


Challenge Five: Myth and Legend

by Anonymous



Category: Merlin (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-14
Updated: 2012-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-09 22:39:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 92,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Entries for <a href="http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/82909.html">Challenge Five: Myth and Legend</a> for summerpornathon 2012</p><p>Voting post can be found <a href="http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/83440.html">here.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part A (with links and warnings)

**1.**

**Warnings:** Dub-con, Size Kink, and Inhuman Creatures  
 **Myth/Legend Used:** [Pixie](http://www.pantheon.org/articles/p/pixie.html) and here’s the [Pixie Wiki](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pixie) for further research.

**A Weakness for Fine Things**

No servants, no feasts, and no music. Just Arthur, his ramshackle cottage in the woods, and a ferocious determination to make it on his own. He rebuilt his home with his own two hands, washed his cares away in the nearby river, and farmed the land until it burst with the fruit of his labor. He had a life of his own now and was happy, even if he was slowly going mad.

It started small with misplaced dishes and missing buttons. Pretty soon though he was finding bouquets of flowers where his tools should be, destroyed clothing, and his horse too exhausted to ride. Yet, the crops were harvested, his blankets mended, and baskets of fruit left at his door daily. It was both infuriating and oddly endearing. There were days Arthur couldn’t decide whether to punish the culprit, or thank them.

One afternoon he’d been gathering mushrooms in the forest when a flickering light in the distance caught his eye. The more he tried to ignore it the more insistent, almost hypnotizing, it became. He soon found himself following it deep into the woods until it faded and everything grew dark.

~*~*~*~*~*~

When he woke Arthur found himself flat on his back and strapped down to the mossy ground by what looked to be vines of ivy. Worse still, his shirt was in tatters around his body and no matter how he struggled he couldn’t break free of the vine. He was formulating a plan of escape when a tiny creature zipped past and then returned to hover close to his face.

It had the likeness of a man. A very small, very naked, palm-sized man in a green loincloth with dark hair, blue eyes, pointed ears, and the most delicately beautiful wings he’d ever seen. They were almost translucent and they shimmered and fluttered behind the creature as it stared down at him. It began to gesture expansively and rant, it’s “voice” sounding like outraged wind chimes. 

Arthur couldn’t understand a word it was saying, he only knew that it felt he was somehow to blame. Arthur should have been angry himself but was still a little in shock and the creature was, quite frankly, enchanting. He watched bemused as it’s furious scolding died down until it simply hovered there above him, chest heaving in exertion and antennae twitching wildly.

“Beautiful.” Arthur breathed. The pixie glowed briefly in what looked like embarrassment before it’s face twisted with some strong emotion. It dived down to cling to and stroke his hair as it trilled longingly into his ear.

“Merlin.” Arthur repeated dumbly, all of the sudden uncomfortably aware of his exposed chest and unfastened breeches in the cool night air. Merlin continued to babble and sing against the sensitive curve of his ear and Arthur felt his face grow hot, felt his body ache from the slew of heated confessions.

The pixie flit back up to kneel, feather light, on his mouth and cling to his nose in a desperate embrace. Arthur couldn’t hear the things he crooned anymore. He was only able to watch as Merlin’s expressive eyes darkened with desire as the warmth of Arthur’s breath pushed between his legs to flow along the hypersensitive lace of his wings.

The pixies mouth parted in a needy cry, revealed a set of needle sharp teeth and Merlin stared hungrily at the dazed and intrigued expression on Arthur’s face. He watched Merlin’s knees part almost unwillingly; watched the pixie slide down, molasses slow, to straddle his mouth and press flush against the damp heat there. Merlin’s tiny body glowed and his silky wings moved restlessly as he writhed against the plump weight of his lips. Arthur relished the unyielding pressure of the ivy, was utterly entranced by the sparkling vision in front of his eyes and uninterested in escape.

Merlin’s squirming grew frantic and his pitchy little cries triggered something dark, and utterly primitive in the back of Arthur’s mind. Something that wanted to make the creature scream louder in that sweet, musical voice. Unable to resist, he eased the very tip of his tongue out to stroke carefully, wetly, along the sweet smelling creature riding his mouth. Merlin almost immediately stiffened and came with a fluting keen, back arched, tiny hands grasping at the bridge of his nose, and tasting of honeysuckle. Arthur’s hips thrust up unconsciously in reaction, cock blurting precum as Merlin shivered and crooned something that sounded terrifyingly like...

“ _Keep you_...”

* * *

**2.**

Warnings: Consent is waaaay dubious. Character death in the context of reincarnation is discussed.  
Myth used is [the Lidérc](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lid%C3%A9rc)

***

The joke is that Arthur was born two nights sleep under par. There are always bags under his eyes, and he never accepts invitations to go out on weekends, because he's tired. His friends tell him not to work so hard. 

Arthur is always in bed, asleep, before ten pm. Every night. 

***

When Arthur drifts into sleep, his dreams are aflame. He can feel Merlin's presence before he sees him; feel how hungry he is. He projects it, he _radiates_ it; the feeling of being starving, of being so empty it burns and gnaws away inside him. 

'Come here,' says Arthur, opening his arms, and Merlin is there. He can't control himself like this, dying of his needs, of his nature. He opens his mouth against Arthur's bare skin, sucking wet and desperate. 'Hey, hey,' Arthur murmurs, trying to soothe him, remembering long ago nights wide awake in his chambers, with Merlin frantic in his arms. 'It's okay, Merlin, don't fret, I'm here -'

Merlin turns his face up to Arthur's, eyes black from lid to lid, no gold and no blue either - everything he was subsumed between what he is now. It fits with the burning, the darkness in Merlin's eyes. He'll come back when he's had what he needs. Arthur raises his hands to Merlin's neck and brings him in to kiss him, like mouth to mouth resuscitation. He wants to bring Merlin back to life.

Before long they're on the ground, curled around each other, Merlin mouthing at the join of Arthur's thigh to his body and then at his cock, taking it in deep without preamble, without breath, and it's all Arthur can do, in the heat and the delirium he's catching off his lover, to reciprocate. 

The taste of Merlin is like a drug, honeyed and sweet and so bad for you; and like a drug it stops Arthur caring about anything but getting more of it. He drags himself down, down, further down, sucking, breathing sob-like through his nose but air is nothing compared to Merlin between his legs and in his system. 

Arthur wants to make love to Merlin. Merlin wants to devour him. Arthur hasn't had his way in three hundred years. Merlin is this way because of Arthur. 

Arthur will take what he can get, give all he can give, live this life for every hit he can handle and feed Merlin's hunger with every part of him.

His only regret, as Merlin brings him to his peak and swallows every drop, jerks out of Arthur's hold and comes across his face, braced over his body, all lean, gleaming muscle and bone, the god of - no, the demon of sex - his only regret, Arthur's only regret, is that this is only a dream

***

'We can't keep on like this,' says Merlin, when he comes back to himself and the black recedes to gold recedes to blue in his eyes. 'It isn't safe.'

He says this every time. 'I need to find someone else,' he says, pleading. 'Let me find someone else, just for a while.'

Arthur shakes his head, keeps holding Merlin by his hips because he can't bear to let go. 

'Please, Arthur. I don't want to kill you,' Merlin whispers. 'Not again.'

* * *

**3.**

**Warnings:** Dubious consent  
 **Myth/Legend used:** [The Morrigan](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Morr%C3%ADgan) (Celtic mythology)

"Merlin! You're not supposed to be here!" Arthur hissed. It was bad enough that he was trussed up on a stone altar without the love of his life seeing him like this, although -- if he survived, he had a few ideas to spice up their sex life. "Go away! Now. Before the Morrigan gets here."

Camelot had lost too many wars and they were in danger of losing more. Uther was changing his battle tactics -- it was time for desperate measures.

But not measures as desperate as _these_. 

Arthur did not know where Uther had found the seer nor how he had convinced her to throw the auguries despite the threat of death for using magic under Camelot's rule, but his father had definitely gone off in the head for believing that sacrificing his firstborn son to the Goddess of War would win him her favour.

Maybe it would, but --

"Why are you -- we talked about this! You can't be here!" Arthur glared at Merlin. If the Druids did their job properly, the Morrigan should be appearing any time now. Arthur didn't want Merlin to see what might happen. Death, or, worse -- 

Merlin stood at the foot of the altar, watching Arthur with an inscrutable look.

It shouldn't make Arthur hot, but it did. He remembered tying Merlin's flailing limbs to the bedposts, fucking him into the mattress, but now the roles were reversed, and --

Merlin was staring at him with dark, lust-filled eyes. Arthur's cock flushed full of blood.

"Merlin! You shouldn't be here. Go away! Go!" 

"Do you really want to do this?" Merlin asked.

"What, let my _totally delusional_ father sacrifice me to some War Goddess because he thinks he'll win the next battle? Of course not!" Arthur pulled at the shackles. "It's not like I have a choice! And nothing else that we're doing is working, is it?"

"Fine, then. We'll do this. I've been meaning to take the next step anyway."

"Merlin?"

Merlin unknotted his red scarf. "It's unbelievable, you know. How much the Druids have forgotten over time. No one _summons_ the Morrigan. The Morrigan doesn't grant favours to those who sacrifice their bravest and strongest warriors. That's just dumb, if you think about it."

He shrugged out of his coat and pulled off his tunic, revealing smooth, white skin stretched over sinewy muscle. Arthur banged his head on the stone table. "What are you on about? I told you to -- What are you --"

Merlin kicked off his boots and shimmied out of his breeches. "The Morrigan is the Chooser of the Slain. Why deprive the Morrigan of the pleasure of plucking the best from the battlefield?"

Arthur gaped. Merlin climbed on the altar and straddled Arthur's hips, grinding their hard cocks together. 

"Merlin --" Arthur warned, finishing with long, low groan of pleasure that he couldn't quite bite back.

"That seer your father spoke to? A charlatan," Merlin continued, chattering on the way he did when he was scrubbing Arthur's armour, except now those long, agile fingers were shoving their way up Arthur's arse. It burned, but each scissoring push was mysteriously wet and slick. "A real seer would've known that one man has had the Morrigan's favour all along."

Arthur gasped when Merlin filled him with his cock in one hard thrust. Merlin stilled, running a soothing hand over Arthur's chest and fingers through his hair, easing him from pain to pleasure with soft kisses.

"All he had to do was give me his love. And you love me."

"You! But... The Morrigan's a _woman_!"

"The Morrigan's a shapechanger, Arthur. That's how I appeared to people back in the day," Merlin said, rolling his hips in a slow, languid fuck. "But, really, the Morrigan's just... me."

Arthur strained against his bonds. Merlin's blue eyes flashed gold and the shackles holding Arthur down snapped open, the chains clattering on the ground. Arthur wrapped his legs around Merlin's waist, angling his hips.

He gasped and saw stars.

Merlin fucked harder, faster, deeper. Arthur needed only a few pulls of his cock, but he was joined by Merlin a moment later in a climax that left them both breathless.

" _Mine_ ," Merlin whispered. "You're always going to be mine. Now tell that pillock of a King that you've been granted the Morrigan's favour, that you'll be given his favour again and again, and to get the fuck out of your way."

* * *

**4.**

**Warnings:** Hints at human flesh consumption, death and slight gore (of non-human characters)  
 **Myth/Legend Used** : “Up, My Six, in the Name of Jesus” Collected in Icelandic Folk and Fairy Tales; story located on pages 81, 82, 83, and 84.

**”Up, My Six, in the Name of Men!”**

Arthur knew he and his men had to seek refuge soon, or they would not survive the night.Their cloaks, ragged and threadbare from the trials of their journey, offered little protection from the ice and hail mercilessly beating down upon them.

By sheer luck, Arthur spotted a small farmhouse, the lit lamps in the windows shining like a beacon through the storm. He pounded at the door, fearful the inhabitants would not hear the knocking over the fierce howling of the wind.

The door creaked open, and a young man cautiously peeked his head out, his blue eyes widening under a fringe of unruly black hair. Arthur suddenly felt desire stir within him, but before he could dwell on it, a gnarled hand yanked the young man from behind.

"Merlin, you good for nothing lout--Eh?" came a grating voice, its owner a wizened old crone. "What do you lot want?"

The stench emanating from the woman was so horrendous, Arthur grimaced. "My men and I require shelter for the night, and a seat at your supper table."

"Feh." The woman spat on the ground at their feet, but still allowed them to enter.

Arthur did not miss the gleam in her eyes.

*

The interior was filthy and in disrepair, reeking of waste and decay. But it was warm at least, and the men soon felt themselves begin to thaw.

The young man, Merlin, seemed to play the role of indentured servant to the mistress of the household and the rest of her ilk. Arthur cared not to remember their names, nor their disfigured faces.

As the group sat down to supper, Merlin leaned over Arthur’s shoulder to fill his goblet. “Tell your men,” he whispered in Arthur’s ear, “to only eat what’s on the outside of your plate.”

When the food was finally served, Arthur understood: he had been in enough battles to recognize human flesh from mutton.

*

“You have to go,” Merlin pleaded softly, gasping as he writhed on the wall Arthur had him pinned against. Once they had stolen away from the watchful gaze of the others, the two were unable to resist keeping their hands off each other in the haven of the darkened hallway. “I could distract them long enough--”

“I will not leave,” Arthur growled as he wrapped a hand around their aching cocks, slicked with sweat and pre-come. As he furiously stroked them to climax, he muffled Merlin’s moans by hungrily capturing Merlin’s mouth with his own.

After cleaning each other off (Arthur bathing Merlin’s softening cock and stomach with his tongue as Merlin sucked Arthur's fingers), they hastily redressed before their absence could be noticed.

“Do not fall asleep,” Merlin warned, his eyes fearful. “'Catrina' comes at midnight.”

*

On the midnight hour, the old woman entered the attic room Arthur and his men were given for their stay. She bent over the beds, feeling their chests and muttering, “Strong, but too lean.”

She repeated this and similar sentiments until she reached Arthur. “Plenty of flesh, full of vitality.”

Before she could swing the axe she carried, Arthur jumped to his feet and wrestled it away from her. Stumbling back in shock, she shouted, “Up, my twelve, in the name of trolls!”

“Up, my six, in the name of men!” Arthur roared in return, severing the woman’s head from her body in one fell swoop.

The trap door to the room was thrown open, and Arthur disposed of the troll that popped up in the same manner, as well as the one that followed. When the blade grew dull, Arthur used the axe to bludgeon the rest, their brain matter splattering on the floor, until all the foul creatures were slain.

*

“You’re finally free,” Arthur said to Merlin as he watched his men advance towards the now abandoned house with lit torches, determined to burn the bodies that rested inside.

Merlin didn’t respond at first, too busy searching through what they looted from the trolls’ treasure, and pulled out a small key triumphantly. “I am now.”

Before Arthur could question the significance, Merlin unlocked the manacles from his wrist, the cold iron falling with a clink as he raised a splayed hand in the direction of the house. Instantly, the building burst into flames, removing the trolls’ blight completely from the world.

“...God have mercy,” Arthur whispered as he stared at the golden shimmer in Merlin’s eyes.

Merlin chuckled as he pulled Arthur in for a kiss. “I think he already has.”

* * *

**5.**

Myth/Legend used: King Arthur & Bunbuku Chagama

A stark ray of golden sunlight enfolded the perfect lines of the sword that pierced the boulder by the pond. The farmer pulled it out and buffed the bright blade on his rough homespun shirt, then raised it to examine the flawless edge with a critical eye. He slid a gentle but firm hand all down its length, tested the edge with his thumb, and tossed it in the pond.

"Surely you don't expect to tempt me with such a poor copy," he called as a woman's graceful arm caught the sword before it touched the water. The arm seemed to shrug, then sank silently beneath the surface with the sword.

On re-entering his humble cottage, he found the table had been set with tea for two, though no one waited to share it with him. He picked up the new teapot, which was fragrant and steaming with his favourite tea, and poured himself a cup. "Not going to join me?" he said conversationally as he began spreading clotted cream and jam on his scone. "How much longer do you plan to sulk?" There was no reply.

The farmer sighed in exasperation, and dashed out the cream harder than necessary, sending a dollop flying to splatter across the teapot. He stopped and frowned for a moment, his brows knitting, then he straightened and grinned.

"How filthy," he remarked, flipping another spoonful of thick cream at the teapot. He dribbled some of the soft-set jam over it as well, making sure to smear the cream and jam well with his fingers. "Oops." The teapot seethed with steam and he snatched his fingers back. "Ow."

"What a terrible mess. I apologise, let me help clean you up." So saying, he picked up the teapot again, and gingerly pressed his lips to its side, which went from scalding to just over comfortably hot in the fraction of a heartbeat between his lips touching the surface and pressing down firmly.

The man grinned and adjusted his hold to let the teapot rest gently on his palms, then leaned forward and ran his tongue over the widest trail of cream and jam, making encouraging sounds of pleasure as he traced the meandering path down to the base of the teapot, where he pushed his tongue into the creamy crevice between the teapot and his palms to get at the warm liquid pooled there.

The teapot twitched. The man lapped greedily at the base until it was clean of cream and jam, then followed the smeared streaks up the smooth, rounded sides of the teapot as it began to squirm in his firm grip, up the curving length of the spout to the tip and nudged the opening there with his tongue, whereupon it gave a mighty heave and twisted from his hands to fall onto the table as a flushed and heaving young man, slightly wild-eyed.

Arthur spread his sticky palms over the long thighs parted before him to frame him on either side, rubbing soothingly. "When you agreed to come live on a farm with me, you never said there would be so much sulking," he said reprovingly.

"Why did you even want a farm to begin with? It's not like you're doing any of the work." Merlin batted away his hands and pushed backwards to sit up properly, crossing his legs. "Ugh, I'm sitting on your scones."

"Farms are peaceful," Arthur said. "You wouldn't understand. Come here and let me get you clean," he leered and pulled Merlin forward by his calves, sending teacups and plates of scones crashing to the ground.

"Oh, I understand, you just want to roll around all day without any responsibilities, ah, Arthur!" he broke off with a satisfying moan and threw back his head as Arthur pulled his legs open and began to nuzzle at his crotch. "But we, ah, really need to, ah!"

Arthur gave his straining cock a little teasing lick, and grinned at the way it jerked in his hand. "The zombie plague can wait. This is Avalon. You were the one who said time passes as we like here." He licked a line up the shaft and lightly dipped his tongue in the little slit at the end, echoing his earlier ministrations on the teapot.

"Fine," Merlin gasped and flailed for something to hold onto, then buried his hands in Arthur's soft hair. "Sex first, then we'll go save the word."

* * *

**6.**

Myth/Legend Used: [The resurrection of Osiris.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Osiris_myth#Death_and_resurrection_of_Osiris)

 

Guinevere can hear the sounds of the dying from outside. She turns away towards Lance who lies before her in this cave by the Nile. The few loyal to her are outside fighting off Pendragon and his army. He is the reason she is here and Lance is dead.

"Can you save him," Guinevere asks.

Merlin and Morgana exchange looks. Gods that they are and with all the power they hold, they are Guinevere's last hope.

"The spell won't last," Merlin says, his deep blue eyes sorry as they look at her.

She is Merlin and Morgana's queen and Lance is their king. Guinevere is certain this is the best they can do.

"How long," she asks.

Morgana's hand is cold in Guinevere's. The touch is meant to be reassuring, but all Guinevere feels is hatred, a disgust for titles and the jealousy they attract. Lance's kinghood comes from the very first god himself, father of the pharaohs. She is his bride, the true queen of the Nile and Pendragon has stripped them of their right, has murdered his brother. All for a queen he cannot have and a heart that belongs to someone else. 

"How long," Guinevere repeats.

"An hour," Morgana answers. 

Guinevere nods. "Will you keep watch?"

Merlin meets her eyes, "of course."

Guinevere watches while Merlin and Morgana perform the spell. She doesn't look away when they uncover Lance's body, all the pieces, and start putting him back together. Pendragon made sure she would never find Lance again, but he doesn’t understand what determination can do. He doesn't understand what this man means to Guinevere, what he meant to her people and what the union that is to happen will mean to the world.

Lance's body shines blue with each murmured spell from Merlin and Morgana. The sorcerers' eyes shine gold like the sun as it rises. Guinevere can feel their power in the ripples in the air around her. Once the spell is complete and Lance lies whole and bare before her, Guinevere falls to her knees. She cradles her king's head in her lap, strokes her fingers through his hair. She doesn’t notice when Merlin and Morgana slip away. 

Lance is warm in her embrace, alive and well. 

"My queen," he whispers.

His voice is rough from disuse, a mockery of the way he used to speak to her. Guinevere can feel her heart beating in her chest. She leans down, her eyes locked with Lance's caring brown eyes. His lips are soft beneath hers, his hands gentle on her face as he kisses her. He tastes of sand and the wind.

And still, the ticking of time is ever present.

Lance's hands are smoothed over as though the water has done him good. Guinevere falls into him, the way he runs his hands up her side, over her shoulders. He's gentle with his hands even as his teeth mark the skin of her neck and his body rocks against hers. Her dress is in the way, but Lance knows as well as Guinevere does that there is no time. He pushes the fabric aside, pushes inside her and moans into her neck. He's hard, moving easily against her wetness.

"I will bear you a son," she breathes as she moves.

Lance's hips come up to meet her and Guinevere can feel the time slipping through her fingers. It makes her desperate for this to last, to catch that look in his eyes when he sees her.

"I will call him Mordred," she whispers.

Lance feels good inside her, like power, like a promise. But Guinevere won't let him take over. She needs him to know, to hear the last promise she will ever make him. Outside, the sounds of the dying have quieted. There is no way for either of them to know what that means.

Lance catches Guinevere by surprise, pushes her down onto the cave floor. He moves with intent, his eyes dark with desire. Guinevere's release catches her just as she's memorising Lance's face. Lance falls on top of her, his body cooling and there's no way for Guinevere to know how long they have left.

"I love you," he says into the shell of her ear. "Always."

Lance goes cold in her arms.

"Our son," she vows to the cave and the wind. "Our son will be Arthur Pendragon's undoing."

Outside, the Nile continues to flow.

* * *

**7.**

[The Six Swans](http://www.surlalunefairytales.com/sixswans/index.html)

“I dream about flying sometimes,” says Arthur.

Merlin doesn’t turn around. He knows he’s going to look at the wrong place if he does, so he just keeps cleaning. “Is that your message for Lady Morgana for today, your Highness?”

“No. There’s no message for today. Be on your way.” Merlin leaves, confused, without finishing half of his chores.

+

Nobody knows whether the Prince’s confinement to his quarters is self-exile or one imposed by the king, and since the king, Arthur, and Lady Morgana are the only three who know for sure, it’s unlikely anyone will find out. Merlin knows how it happened, of course, the spell turning Arthur into a swan, Lady Morgana’s vow of silence as she stitched him a shirt of nettles that made Uther cry sorcery, the desperation that had her throwing an unfinished shirt over Arthur’s head and turning everything human but for one wing. Everyone knows that story.

Now, though, is the mystery, the speculation, and Merlin can’t help his curiosity.

+

“Tell Morgana I know what she’s up to and it’s not funny,” Arthur says, and Merlin looks over, doesn’t let his gaze snag on the cream feathers but meets Arthur’s eyes.

“What’s she up to?” he inquires, not that he expects to get an answer.

Arthur’s mouth quirks. “She’ll know what I mean.”

+

Merlin’s a terrible servant. He doesn’t know why Morgana brought him before the king after he’d only been in Camelot a week and asked that he be made Arthur’s manservant. He still asks her sometimes, and her maid Gwen more often, but both of them assure him there are reasons that he doesn’t need to know yet.

He asked Arthur once, in one of the first conversations where he dared say anything beyond a greeting, but Arthur just stared at him for a long moment, smiled, and looked away.

+

“Morgana says,” Merlin starts one day, banging through the door without knocking (he comes in every day at this time, after all), and then freezes and nearly drops the lunch tray.

There’s Arthur, spread nude on his bed, human hand down between his legs, and, now that Merlin’s here, wing shielding his groin. Merlin lets the door swing shut behind him in the silence. He tries to think of anything to say before he excuses himself, but he can’t take his eyes off the white feathers and remembering the glimpse he caught of what they’re obscuring. “What does Morgana say?” Arthur asks, amusement coloring his tone, and when Merlin looks up at his face there’s a predator’s smile breaking across it.

“I have no idea,” manages Merlin, voice faint, and when Arthur beckons—with the hand that was just on his _cock_ —he goes.

+

Arthur drags him close and wraps his wing around Merlin, and Merlin can’t help the fraught noise he makes at the tickle of feathers on his skin. That makes Arthur blink at him, startled, but a second later he seems to discard his questions and fits his mouth to Merlin’s, biting at his lower lip.

Merlin kisses him hard, climbing into his lap and putting his hands all over the prince’s naked skin, brushing against the feathers of his wing whenever he can find the excuse. Arthur’s erection is an insistent weight between their bodies, impossible to forget, and Merlin has to tear away from Arthur’s mouth to suck bruises down his chest and finally, finally wraps his lips around Arthur’s cock like it seems like he’s been wanting to do forever.

When he sucks, Arthur bucks up into his mouth, and Merlin pins his hips down with an arm and does it again. That time, Arthur’s hand comes to grip and tug in Merlin’s hair and his wing brushes against the side of Merlin’s face. Merlin turns into the soft touch, trying to keep his lips on Arthur’s skin at the same time, and moans, already beyond words.

“Oh,” breathes Arthur, like he’s having a revelation. “Oh, you like that.”

From there, it’s just the heat and the taste of salt in his mouth, and after, the way Arthur deliberately trails his feathers through the mess Merlin makes and smiles, brushing it over them both.

+

“I’m going to get you free, break the rest of the spell,” Merlin promises later, long after he should have left to avoid suspicion.

Arthur smiles and noses at Merlin’s hair. “And that,” he whispers, “is why Morgana chose you.”

* * *

**8.**

Myth/Legend Used: [Nuadu and Dian Cecht](http://bettermyths.com/the-tuatha-de-know-how-to-fight-a-fucking-war/)

"You are still my king," Merlin whispered in the close, private space against the hollow of Arthur's throat, where he smelled like soap and skin.

Arthur pulled away, his gaze shuttering. Merlin pressed his lips to Arthur's shoulder, hating that he could heal his king's wounds and bind his flesh, but he was helpless to take _this_ pain from him. Not even Merlin's magic was strong enough to create something where nothing remained.

Arthur rolled onto his side, putting his back to Merlin. Merlin stared at the lines of it, the harsh set of his shoulders. His lips thinned. He caught Arthur's arm and pushed him onto his back.

Arthur only tensed for a moment, then relented. Merlin shut his eyes and drew an unsteady breath. It was _wrong_. Arthur should have been fighting him, should have clawed tooth and nail against Merlin's manhandling. Merlin never should have been able to make him do anything he didn't care to.

When Merlin opened his eyes, Arthur's gaze was bleak and distant. Merlin traced down his arm, following tendons and the lines of muscles until he threaded his fingers through Arthur's and clasped their hands together. "I want you to touch me," he said. Only sheer determination kept his voice steady.

Arthur pulled against his grip. His mouth twisted, wry. "I can't do that if you won't let go."

Merlin notched his chin up. "Yes, you can."

For the briefest flash, he saw the past in Arthur's eyes. The same hallowed look Merlin had seen before, when he'd fought his way through the battlefield to find Arthur, a mess of blood and gore, one hand hacked to ribbons. Merlin had dropped to his knees beside him and tipped one of Gaius's potions down his throat. The pain had receded to a distant, dazed stare, but the grief had remained. He'd turned his face away in shame and muttered, "Who will want me for a king now?"

"I would," Merlin had said without hesitation, then corrected himself. "I will. I _do_."

Now, Arthur lay beneath him, his fingers clenching around Merlin's and his face turned away just as before, tight with shame.

" _Touch me_ ," Merlin said, gripping Arthur's hand until his fingers hurt.

Haltingly, Arthur brought up his other arm, the one that ended at a stump and had only white, twisted scars where his hand should have been. He touched it lightly to Merlin's cheek, but wouldn't look at him. Color washed his cheeks, and his breath came in sharp gasps.

Merlin nuzzled against Arthur's wrist, then laid a deliberate kiss on it. He let his tongue trace the scars, watching Arthur through heavy-lidded eyes.

Arthur's breath hitched. Heat and something else, something hard to identify, flooded his gaze in the instant before he wrapped his arm around Merlin's back and pulled him in hard.

Merlin sank into the kiss, reveling in Arthur's hunger and ferocity. It was so rare, these days. But when Arthur kept his arm wrapped about Merlin's waist, its end buried in the folds of his shirt, Merlin grabbed double fistfuls of his hair and growled, " _More_ ," against his mouth.

It was an awkward process, stripping down to their skin, but that had more to do with the way Merlin always got his long limbs tangled in his clothes than any lack of Arthur's. He'd adapted quickly to life with only one hand, even as he'd resented it.

Once they were both naked, Merlin pushed Arthur beneath him again. He straddled Arthur's hips, braced Arthur's hand against the bed, and gave him a pointed look.

Arthur touched him gingerly at first. He grazed the back of his wrist down Merlin's chest and across his stomach. But when Merlin shivered and his cock began to fill, Arthur's gaze heated. He set aside his self-consciousness and reared up to bite at Merlin's shoulder. 

Merlin moaned at the contrast of coarse hairs and rippled scars grazing along his cock. "More," he breathed, then bit back a cry when Arthur slid his stump between Merlin's legs, back between his cheeks.

When he couldn't bear the teasing another moment, Merlin pushed Arthur's arm away. He rose up and lowered himself onto Arthur's cock, rode him through his own orgasm until Arthur cried out and shook apart inside him.

Afterwards, when they were both sated and sluggish, Merlin stretched out atop Arthur and whispered into that secret space at the base of his throat, "You will always be my king."

* * *

**9.**

Myth/Legend Used: [The Almas “wild people” legend](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Almas_%28cryptozoology%29)

When Arthur stepped into the clearing near the river, he saw her. A wild thing, more creature than woman, and he’d thought it was a trick of the evening’s glow, shadows dancing through the moonlight. But upon closer inspection, he found her to be a young woman of sorts. She must certainly be a woman with her wide hips and heavy breasts, her nest of hair black and coarse, frayed and thick as it feathered down well past her knees. For having so much of it, her hair covered so very little or maybe Arthur just stared long enough to see everything.

Every inch of her was untamed: the perfect arch of her shoulders as she leaned over the bubbling waters, the tender dip of her spine and the round of her arse, the shadows that played between her supple thighs, the dark tips of her breasts.

Arthur didn’t know any better. When he chased her, he couldn’t control himself.

**

He called her _Morgana_ , but she had no name. She laughed at him, his language, his clothes, his strange, hairless body. The thing called Arthur was a curious creature. She liked to pin him and feel his body squirm beneath her. She liked to grind her naked cunt to his soft legs, wet him with her juices and come undone against his thigh with nothing but his startled expression to guide her climax.

Sometimes, they wrestled. Arthur was very strong, but she was stronger. She got him on his back and he spoke to her in a language she didn’t understand, noises that sounded welcoming as they dripped from his tongue. Sweet. She looked down at him and saw a helpless thing that she could hold in the palm of her hand. The choice was difficult: to slide her tongue over every inch of him or feed him to the dogs that howled in the night.

He called her Morgana, and she liked it. Being alone with him. The boy with soft yellow hair and moonlight pale skin. Sapphire eyes, twinkling like starlight reflected on the bluest rivers.

She leaned down that day and bit him. She hadn’t expected that he would moan in response.

**

Every time Arthur chased, Morgana was one step ahead. No sooner had Arthur reached for her hand than she had his face in the dirt and her teeth on his nape. Her rough nails dug into his skin, ripped his clothes, her body ground against him from behind. Arthur could practically taste her urgency, and it was addictive, how wild and raw she was, how unfettered by society’s standards, how free from expectations. The years he’d spent in service to his country vanished, all obligations obliterated, his head empty as a blank slate just waiting to be filled. When she held him down, Arthur enjoyed the reversal.

“Please,” he told her, and how could she understand to know what he was asking for?

**

Morgana slid a finger into her boy. It was enough to see his reaction, the buck of his hips, the dig of his clean, clean fingers in the dirty, wet ground. She saw clumps of filth squelch under his nails, and that affected her as much as the sight of his red mouth biting the leaves and twigs beneath his lips. She encouraged him, applying the pressure of a second finger, the need to mate overwhelming and strange. It wasn’t done like this. Her people, the Almas, they never took boys to their beds in such a manner.

As he came, Morgana rolled his name on her tongue, eyes flashing in the dark, addicted.

The next time he sought her out, she used her tongue, thrusting it deep enough to make him shout. His orgasm shocked out of him like thunder, and Morgana laughed and laughed, her wild hair in sweaty ringlets about her pale face. She claimed his mouth next, then thrust her clit between his lips and bade him in her own language to _suck_ and _yes, like that, pretty mouth_ until she spilled down his chin and onto his flat tongue and watched him drink her up like a man dying of thirst.

After, Morgana dragged him to the thatch of grass that was her bed and curled beside him, her head and all that wild hair spilling over his nude body, the clawed wounds from her nails on his chest. She inhaled his scent. It was her own now. He belonged to her.

* * *

**10.**

Myth/Legend Used: [The Wild Hunt](en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wild_Hunt)

In his dream, Merlin places his hand on the tree, palm flat against the bark to feel life pulsing inside. Up from the roots that burrow deep into the ground to the leaves that dare to brush the very top of the sky, the power that Merlin summons pulses through him, too. With a whispered word, he sends his power through the rest of the king's forest and, he hopes, to the king himself. 

He feels the surge and the summons, and a faint, damp chill at the edge of the wind, followed by a lull. Merlin sits down at the foot of the tree; he's patient, he can wait here until night falls and the king answers his call. 

The wind picks up first, slow, then sudden, stirring the leaves and making the branches creak. A slap of rain hits Merlin in the face and the storm is upon him, tearing at his hair and his clothes. The storm swells with the thunder of hoofbeats and the baying of hounds. Merlin stands at the center to let himself be battered and windblown by the storm, so that when the hunt swoops from the sky above him, he is shaking with cold and anticipation. 

Most night, ghosts and demons ride with the hunt, but not when the king leads it. He commands a fairy host out of Avalon and they are no less wild, no less vicious on their night of freedom than any of the other riders. 

"I've come for the king!" Merlin shouts up into the storm when he can see the hunt hover beneath the clouds. 

One rider separates from the others signals for the rest to stay. His horse's hooves never touch the ground and Merlin can see the rain and trees through both their forms. "No mortal can survive the Wild Hunt. But, then, you aren't mortal are you?" 

Merlin takes a step closer and holds a hand out to the horse, who nuzzles up to him with a quiet whinny. His form flickers, and grows more substantial, until Merlin feels the warmth of his breath.

"He remembers you," the king says and pats the horse's flank. He dismounts, pats the horse again, and walks up to Merlin. "Right. Help me out of my armor, now that I've come for you."

That everything around Merlin -- the night, the storm, the forest, the hunt -- feels unreal ceases to matter when he sees Arthur flicker into full being at his touch. A thousand years have passed since Merlin last served Arthur, but he remembers all the little idiosyncrasies of his king's armor. 

He remembers Arthur's touch, too, and when the tips of Arthur's fingers graze Merlin's jaw, warmth flushes over Merlin's face despite the cold. 

"There, now, I've come back tonight." Arthur touches Merlin's neck and slips one finger beneath the collar of Merlin's shirt. His mouth closes over Merlin's after he tugs Merlin close, and the taste of rain lingers between their lips as they kiss. 

A lull settles around them, but at his back Merlin can hear the storm and the hunt anxious to rage again. He wastes no time in getting his hands up under Arthur's tunic, kissing him harder and harder until he can push Arthur up against the tree. 

Because Arthur feels real beneath his hands, he doesn't care how rushed this has to be, or how their mouths crash against each other with an intensity that hurts them both. He is hard and wanting, and his body yearns towards Arthur's with a wildness of his own. Merlin can ignore the rain and the wind when he has Arthur's breath harsh and loud in his ear and Arthur's cock, hot and hard, in his hand. 

He doesn't even care that he has to get them both off painfully fast, his hand jerking at Arthur's cock while he tries to keep himself as close as he can to Arthur. 

It's the one moment he has had with Arthur in a thousand years and he is going to take all he can and save it up for a thousand more. 

+

When Merlin wakes, he knows at once that he is the pulse of life inside the tree, still awaiting the rumble of phantom hooves against the ground and the scream of the ghostly wind in the sky.

* * *

**11.**

 

 **Warning:** minor character death.

**Myth/Legend Used:** [The Licked Hand](http://urbanlegends.about.com/od/horrors/a/humans_can_lick.htm)

Merlin finds Arthur most receptive after sex. Once the sweat and come are cooling off and drying and-, “Gross, Arthur, it was your turn to clean us off!”

It’s after they writhe together, and Merlin digs his nails into Arthur’s shoulders and Arthur bites at his lip and thrusts into him ruthlessly until they’re both wild with it that they fall apart, together; that’s also when Merlin’s brain seems to go into overdrive, pushing him to reach out for his glasses and his laptop and furiously type up his thoughts and theories.

One night, when the only thing illuminating the room is the glow of Merlin’s screen, and Arthur traces idle patterns with his fingers up and down Merlin’s torso, Merlin’s mind reels.

“Do you ever feel guilty, Arthur?” he asks, turning to watch Arthur’s face in the blue hue. Merlin’s leg is hanging off the bed and their dog Killy is licking at his toes, one by one. Merlin scolds him, “Stop, Kill, your chew toy is in your doggy bed.”

Arthur looks at Merlin, fingers stopping the patterns, grins, “Guilty? You mean for taking your virginity all those years ago?”

Merlin rolls his eyes, “No, I just- it’s this assignment for my mythology class. The prof wants us to rewrite a myth or legend from another culture and I’m just sitting here feeling ill with White Guilt, because what right do I have to do that? I mean, here’s this white dude going all ‘oh hey, appropriate some cultures.’”

“Aren’t you a white dude, Merlin? The whitest, even?” Arthur chuckles, turning his face into Merlin’s neck (Merlin’s weak spot), no doubt so Merlin doesn’t smack him. "Is this because of that race, class, culture class you took last term?"

"No, I-"

The licks at Merlin’s toes continue, and get sloppier, so Merlin kicks his foot back up on the bed.

“Eugh,” Merlin says. “What the hell is going on with Killy tonight? I feel like my foot just took a doggy slobber bath.” He rubs his foot dry against the bedsheet.

The noise Arthur makes is clearly meant to signify, ‘Gross, but no, I don’t want to move, so if you care so much, you do it.’

Neither of them moves.

Merlin hears shuffling around the bed until Arthur groans in disgust, and he can’t help letting out a squeal of joy at Arthur’s misery, before turning back to his screen, frustrated.

“But how am I supposed to just take some myth from Africa or Cambodia and feel okay about transforming and modernizing it. It's almost like- like- almost like colonization!” Merlin knows his train of thought is getting away from him now, what with it being well into the early-morning hours, but he only has two days left on this paper.

“Couldn’t you just pick a myth from some other ‘White Dude’ culture? Scandinavia, the Slavs?” Arthur’s voice makes the quotation marks obvious, even as it softens. Arthur jerks suddenly, “Killy, stop that before I kick you.”

“Oi!” Merlin hears shuffling, but no whining, so he figures Killy is okay and going to bed.

“Sorry, he’s just being really weird tonight,” Arthur moves back to nose at Merlin’s neck, “even weirder than you.”

“Oi” Merlin says again, but he's too tired for it to hold any heat.

“Go to sleep, Merlin,” Arthur mutters.

“But this transformative fiction assignment! I have-“

“-a whole day tomorrow.”

Merlin sighs, but closes his laptop and puts it back on the floor with his glasses, before cuddling up to Arthur, trying to let all errant thoughts of Kali, gerudas and fertility gods drift away, so he can get some sleep.

***

The morning sun manages to sneak its way through the curtains and hit Merlin straight in the eyes. He grumbles for a bit, but seeing that the giant mass of pratty boyfriend lying on top of him barely moves, Merlin gets out of bed to go to the loo.

He stretches, making his way down the hallway, hearing dripping; the faucet probably, another thing they have to fix. 

He switches on the light and turns to relieve himself when the stench hits him, right along with the sight: _Killy_. Hanging, body torn apart, the dripping sound his blood falling onto the tiled floor.

Merlin uses the wall to hold himself up, from falling, from retching, as he takes in the words behind his beloved pet, _Humans can lick, too._

Merlin screams.

* * *

**12.**

[The Crane Wife](http://wabei4.tripod.com/xlation/quilt/crane.htm)

The few pale fingers of sunlight reaching between the trees were dimming when he heard the cries. 

A white crane, thrashing on the ground in a snare, throwing itself toward the sky and crashing down again and again. It would soon break its own neck, the fool. Its cries grew squawking as he neared it. It beat its wings, frenzy-strong. 

It was probably stupid to bother, he knew, even before he took a blinding blow to the jaw. He swore and dropped his wood, throwing his arms around its wings. "I could have you for stew tonight, you know!" he yelled. They grappled until it stilled, twisting its long neck back to give him a glare so humanly baleful he laughed. It pecked him in the arm. "Hush, idiot. I'm helping you." 

The crane ruffled its feathers, keeping one beady eye on him. It did not move. He let go slowly, with one hand, moving down to loosen the snare and expecting his eye plucked out for his effort. "Easy, friend," he said, and freed it. He stepped back. It lifted its leg with careful slowness--scraped raw, bent a little oddly. The crane opened its wings and, with a flurry of white feathers that kicked up the white snow around it, was gone.

Arthur gathered up the kindling that hadn't grown damp from the snow, jaw aching, fingers numb.

 

He nearly didn't hear the knocking over the screaming wind. 

"Please," the stranger said.

He'd been nude, his long white body shuddering. It still did now, even clothed and blanketed before Arthur's meager fire. He'd been robbed, clearly--could barely walk on his wounded leg, and his hands and feet nearly blue from exposure.

Arthur gave the man hot soup. His fingers were half frozen--he held the spoon awkwardly, cursing and finally picking up the bowl and slurping from it. Arthur didn't comment, only slowly sipped at his own, and watched the stranger press his bowl to his lips, watched his cheeks and nose pinken by degrees, and tried to remember the last time he'd shared a meal with someone.

 

The first night, the stranger, Merlin, slept in Arthur's arms and leeched warmth from Arthur's broader and unbruised body and his chattering teeth kept Arthur up half the night. 

He grinned easily. He touched easily. Arthur felt little points of burning where Merlin had touched his arm there to tell him how grateful he was; where their fingertips had touched here as they passed some bread; where Merlin had touched his nape, as he stood and asked if Arthur was ready for bed. 

The second night, Merlin slept in Arthur's bed because Arthur didn't have another. He didn't often have guests. Arthur tried not to flinch, and feigned sleep, loath to give Merlin reason to be uneasy as his guest.

Merlin placed one hand, terribly, over Arthur's heart. "I am grateful, Arthur," he whispered. 

Arthur couldn't swallow, his throat was so dry. "You don't owe me anything, Merlin," he said. He turned over, Merlin's hand grazing his nipple as it fell away. He willed himself to sleep, to be unconscious to the shifting body beside him.

Merlin had breakfast ready in the morning. "I notice you have a loom, in the back," he said. Arthur's trousers hung loosely on his hips. He didn't wear a shirt. 

"It was my mother's."

"I have some skill," Merlin said. "I will be out of your hair before long, but I can earn my keep. If you do me a favor, and don't watch me. Just promise me that." It was an odd request, but Arthur was ready to grant it. 

"It would perhaps be enough to repay you." Merlin looped a circle around Arthur's wrist, which Arthur pulled from his grasp.

"If you insist, that alone would be repayment enough, Merlin." 

"Yes." Merlin looked up at him through dark lashes. "I think so, too. Anything else, then--it wouldn't be a matter of debt, would it?" He grinned. 

The third night, Merlin shared Arthur's bed, but neither slept.

"Don't leave," Arthur gasped as Merlin licked his hip, licked up his cock, engulfed him in an all-consuming heat. "Please," he said. 

"Promise me," Merlin whispers in his ear, rutting against the come on Arthur's thighs, "Promise me, and I won't leave--"

"I promise, I won't, I'll never--"

* * *

**13.**

Myth/Legend Used: [ The tale of Dierdre from the Ulster Cycle of Irish Mythology ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dierdre)

**Merlin of the Sorrows**

The golden man appeared in his dreams; strange dreams for a boy who’d never known anyone but Gaius in all his fifteen years. Only the King came once a year to assess Merlin’s growth and education. King Uther of Ulster spoke little to Merlin; just stared at him with an indecipherable expression. It was somehow _hot_ and perhaps…hungry? Gaius never looked that way. Merlin had never understood it.

Merlin wasn’t allowed outside the keep and none save the King was allowed in but Gaius conjured images in a glass for Merlin so that he’d see there was a world beyond the walls that’d always surrounded him. Still, he’d never seen anyone like the golden man from his dream, nor had he seen anyone do what he and that man had done…

_He gasped a name, but it was lost in the haze of heat from the golden body pressed to him. Eyes bluer than the sky stared into his, sweat plastered shining strands of golden hair to fair skin and full pink lips moaned Merlin’s name before plundering his mouth. Tongues twined, they drank from each other, exchanging liquid heat. Callus roughened fingers stroked Merlin’s soft white skin leaving trails of fire in their wake._

_Sitting astride the man’s lap, Merlin pressed his naked flesh close, writhing in pleasure and begging for more than just skin and lips. Strong hands gripped his buttocks, spreading them wide; a spit slick finger pierced his body’s center. Merlin gasped in shock at the burn, simultaneously pained and pleasured. Still, it wasn’t enough, he needed more. He was empty and only _this_ man could fill the void. The finger withdrew and powerful arms lifted his slender body higher. Suddenly Merlin felt something hot and _thick_ press against his aching need, nudging insistently against the tightly furled flesh. Merlin panted as he was penetrated to the core. Whimpers escaped his lips; it hurt. Gods, it hurt but he wanted it so badly. The void was filled, _overfilled_ , stuffed and straining to contain what he’d absorbed. _

_The golden man began thrusting upward and Merlin screamed in agonized ecstasy. The burning soon eased and the pain disappeared. In its place was exquisite pleasure and a sense of fulfillment that Merlin could never have imagined. He clenched around the flesh embedded deep within him. Pressing fevered kisses to a beautiful face and neck, Merlin grasped the man’s powerful shoulders and rocked their bodies together. Hands on his hips helped him rise and fall until they were both sobbing incoherently with pleasure. Sweat-slicked bodies rubbed together in delicious friction and Merlin had never known his manhood could grow so hard or ache so fiercely. His flesh tightened and exploded, showering his golden lover with his velvet white essence. He continued to rise and fall ever more rapidly until the blond head fell back, sinews in the strong neck and shoulders strained and plush lips shouted his name over and over. Merlin felt the flesh clasped so closely inside his body throb and pulse. He felt the diffuse heat of his lover’s release and smashed their lips together even as the man was whimpering helplessly. Then…_

He woke up. Gaius had told Merlin he would grow into the gift of his birth, that his dreams would be prophecy. He knew he’d just dreamed of the man he was fated to love. He also knew the King would never allow it. He’d sequestered Merlin here to keep him from the world, to hide him until he grew old enough for Uther to claim Merlin for himself. He’d never allow the golden man to have him.

Merlin had grown up knowing what Uther intended, that the King of Ulster had claimed him even before his birth due to a prophecy spoken over his pregnant mother by Cathbad, Chief Druid to Ulster’s court. Gaius had been forbidden to tell him _what_ the prophecy said but whatever Cathbad had seen, Merlin now knew that fate intended him for another.

He told Gaius his dream and described the golden man.

“Why that’s Arthur! The King’s nephew and mightiest warrior of the Red Branch!”

“Find him Gaius, bring him to me. I’m not meant for Ulster, I’m meant for Arthur.”

Sad eyes met his but held no denial.

“I will. But you must know that fate isn’t always kind and the one that follows you and Arthur may bring nothing but sorrow in its wake.”

Merlin gazed back unflinchingly.

“If such is destiny’s decree, how am I to fight it?”

* * *

**14.**

WARNING: double penetration

 **Myth/Legend Used:** [Chinese mythology, focusing on the God of Wind (Fei Lian) and the God of the Sun (Shen Yi)](http://www.pantheon.org/areas/mythology/asia/chinese/articles.html)

 

"Of all of the gods, you are the biggest son of a bitch I know," Arthur sighs, holding the bag over his head.

Gwaine scowls, trying to swipe it back. "Don't hate on my mother, Arthur, that's not very nice."

"You don't even know who your mother _is_ ," Arthur rolls his eyes, and passes the bag - an innocent-looking thing - to his other hand. Gwaine grunts his irritation as he misses. "And you of all people should know that I'm not nice."

" _I know_. Why do you think you're my arch-nemesis?" Gwaine retorts. He gives up, collapsing into a passing cloud and sending a torrent of raindrops over Manchester.

"I'm confiscating this for a week," Arthur declares, tucking the bag alongside his bow and arrows. "I'll return it to you after Valentine's Day."

"Hell no! Valentine's Day is my favourite day! I get to fluster so many girls by blowing up their skirts and seeing their underwear--"

"That is _exactly_ why you're not getting it back until _afterwards_ ," Arthur snorts. "Until then, the Cailleach will oversee the wind."

"I hate that old bat," Gwaine sulks.

"Suck it up. She plays by the rules, that's all that matters to me." Arthur makes to step off the cloud. "I'm going to shoot some suns now, before India burns to dust. I'll see you in a week."

"What am I meant to do until then?" Gwaine laments, burying his face in a puff of cloud.

Arthur sighs heavily. "I don't care, Gwaine, just stay out of trouble. And for the love of Albion, _stop raining on Manchester_. That's Nimueh's job, and I have enough on my plate as it is without having to mediate a truce between you two knuckleheads!"

And with that, much to Gwaine's anguish, the God of the Sun is gone.

*

Merlin is the messenger of Gaius, God of the Sky. He's dorky, friendly, and fiercely loyal.

He also sucks cock like an immortal who's been on Earth for more than a thousand years.

"Mother of-- fucking _hell_ , Merlin," Gwaine pants. "Where did you learn to-- _Fuck_!"

When Merlin finally pulls himself off, mouth wet, he smiles. "I've had a lot of time on my hands," he says, and lets Gwaine manhandle him onto the surface of the cloud.

"This is turning out to be the best Valentine's Day _ever_ ," Gwaine moans as Merlin sucks on his fingers. "Arthur, I've never been happier that you confiscated my wind, you motherfucking bastard."

Both men are too busy to notice the shadow looming over them.

"You may not have known your mother, but I knew mine, and _no one_ gets away with taking her name in vain.”

Gwaine yelps in surprise, leaping off Merlin and turning to face Arthur. "What the _fuck_! What is wrong with you, Arthur!"

Arthur is red with rage, but he manages to say, "I came to return your bag early," in an entirely calm voice. "Gwaine, when I told you to stay out of trouble, I didn't mean shag your way around Albion!"

"I haven't!" Gwaine protests indignantly, gesturing with wild hands at Merlin, who's relaxing against the cloud, watching the scene with an unreadable face. "I've been good, damn it. I've had nothing to do for a whole week, I was bored out of my mind! And then I bumped into Merlin, and, well--"

"I should've known," Arthur interrupts, but he's staring at Merlin now. "You have no shame, you know that?"

Merlin laughs. "I'm just a messenger, aren't I? I’m not a god. I can do whatever I want... or _whoever_ I want."

"If Gaius ever found out--"

"If he did, then all of Albion would be privy to how you like to stick your cock up my arse every now and then."

Gwaine stares disbelievingly at Arthur. "I thought you were a goddess-only kind of guy!"

"I thought that about you too," Arthur snaps. "Damn it, Merlin, you just _had_ to seduce my enemy, didn't you?"

Merlin smirks, and palms his cock back into hardness. “Hear me out, boys. By the end, I’m sure we’ll all be very satisfied, and, well... Who’s to say you have to still be enemies? I like to think of myself as a peacekeeper.”

*

They’re both deep inside of Merlin when he comes over them, crying so loud Gwaine is sure all of Albion can hear him. Arthur continues to grunt, fucking up into Merlin, against Gwaine’s cock, and a few more thrusts is all it takes for Gwaine to follow Merlin off the edge, like he’s sliding down his own wind, but even better—

It’s even better than that.

* * *

**15.**

Warning: Crack may ensues, voyeurism and general fluff as well.  
Myth/Legend Used: [The creatures that are mentioned are: 1\. Mok'ele-mbembe. 2. Loch Ness monster. 3. The Dover demon. 4. Chupacabra. 5. Mentioned Mothman and Spring-Heeled Jack. 6. Yeti. ](http://paranormal.about.com/od/othercreatures/a/10-creatures.htm)

**All around the world**

*Amazonas:*

"You prat!"

"Excuse me!?"

"You nearly shot me and you destroyed my camera!"

"I saved your life idiot!"

"I needed that film!"

"That, that thing would have eaten you-"

"mok'ele-mbembe and no, it wouldn't have." Merlin glared at the blond prat before him. "Just stay away from me."

*Loch Ness:*

"What are you doing here?"

"Happened to be around." Arthur answered with a smirk.

"Riiight."

"So what are we-"

"Not we, I, and Nessie, so be quiet."

"….."

"What?"

"Your eyes went…"

"Oh."

*Dover, Massachusetts:*

"This is better be worth it Merlin."

"I didn't ask you to come."

"Shut up."

"……."

"Merlin is that….?"

"Yeah, now give me the camera."

"Its eyes are glowing like yours."

"……."

"Don't be a girl Merlin, yours are prettier."

"……."

"……"

"You kissed me."

"Yeah so?"

"……"

*Puerto-Rico:*

"Is that a goat?"

"Yep."

"Why do you have a dead goat Merlin?"

"To lure the beast."

"I don't need a dead goat Merlin; you should know that by now."

"Prat."

"……"

"Merlin…."

"No."

"But Merlin…" Arthur whined and then huffed when his hand was slapped.

"I'm working."

"That's the problem! You are too sexy when you are working! I can't help myself!"

"……"  
&&&&&  
"Shh… You'll wake the whole village Merlin."

"Arthur fuck," Merlin gasped and arched into Arthur's touch. "Faster you prat, gods yeah."

Arthur smirked and dropped to his knees.

"Arth-" Merlin's hips bucked when Arthur's lips wrapped around him, humming in smug delight.

"Oh god, fuck, Arthur I'm-"

Arthur tightened his grip on Merlin's thighs.

"That's right baby," He cooed. "Come for me."

"Oh fuck!" Merlin's knees buckled and he crumbled in Arthur's arms.

"Err Merlin?"

"Hmm?"

"Where did the goat go?"

"Huh?" Merlin looked around.

"Oww! What was that for?"

"You prat! You distracted me!"

"Merlin?"

"Well?"

"Shut up."

"What's that?"

"My new job."

"No."

"Arthur-"

"No."

"But-"

"We talked about it Merlin! After that disaster in London with the fucking Spring- Heeled Jack-"

"Nothing happened!"

"Just by luck!"

"And my magic!"

Arthur's jaw tightened. "I'm coming with you."

*Himalayas:*

"What are we-"

"Yeti."

"Of course."

"Shut up."

"That's my line."

"Fine then, Prat. There, happy?"

"No."

"What now?"

"I'm cold."

"Arthur…"

"It's not my fault Merlin!" Arthur grumbled. "It's fucking 20 degrees below! I'm going to freeze to death!"

"No you won't."

"….."

"……"

"Merlin."

A sigh.

"Merlin."

"What?"

"Warm me." Arthur said and opened his arms.

"What?! No! I'm working!"

"Merlin…" Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin's waist.

"Warm me baby, I'm freezing without you."

Merlin shivered as he felt Arthur's warm breath ghosting along his neck.

"You don't feel like you are freezing."

"That's because I'm holding you," Arthur whispered as he trailed kisses along Merlin's neck. "Our love keeps me warm."

"Arthur…" Merlin's hands fisted in Arthur's hair and pulled his lips to his, kissing him deeply.

"Since when?" Merlin asked as Arthur's hands sneaked beneath his cloths.

"The Mothman case, you saved my ass-"

"I always save your ass." Merlin gasped when the cold tips of Arthur's fingers pinched his nipple.

"One word Merlin: Amazonas." Arthur said as he lowered Merlin to the thermo blanket on the floor.

"Three words prat: I love you too."

"That's four." Arthur chuckled as he opened their pants.

"I wish I could touch you properly." Arthur said as he lowered their pants to their ankles, aligning their hard cocks together.

"When we get home." Merlin moaned when Arthur began stroking them both.

"Fuck Merlin," Arthur groaned when the precome and Merlin's magic made everything slippery and wet and oh so glorious. "I'm going to take you."

"Here?" Merlin's question was cut off when Arthur's finger pressed in.

"Can't wait."

"Yeah, allright, yeah."

Two fingers, three fingers and then Arthur was pushing in, both men groaning at the sensation.

"Merlin, fuck Merlin." Arthur panted as he pushed in and out.

"I know, fuck Arthur, I know." Merlin moaned as Arthur's tempo increased.

"Oh god, best way to get warm ever." Arthur said as his hand wrapped around Merlin's cock.

"Prat." Merlin breathed as Arthur's strokes grew faster.

"But you still love me right?" Arthur asked as he pressed kisses all over Merlin's face.

"Fuck yeah," Merlin gasped. "Arthur I'm-" His moans were swallowed by Arthur's mouth as they both tumbled over the edge.

&&&&&  
"What is that?"

"A photo of snow Arthur."

"So these aren't eyes?"

"….."

"Did it....?"

"Watched us when…" Merlin said faintly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well fuck me." Merlin whispered.

"When we are home baby." Arthur smirked.

* * *

**16.**

Myth/Legend Used: [The Cowherd and the Weaving Girl](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vega#Etymology_and_cultural_significance)

The steps to reach the tallest tower were unforgiving as always, but Arthur climbed them with enthusiasm. The door to the tower room was open, a candle burning brightly in the window. 

“You’re back, then?” Merlin said, not turning around from where he was puttering around his work table, his back to Arthur.

Arthur scowled. “You mean _you’re_ back. I was out patrolling as part of my kingly duties. You were consorting with the druids, which are distinctly not part of your duties.”

Merlin laughed, turning around. “But they teach me so much. Especially on how to protect _your_ life,” he said, quirking a grin. He stepped toward Arthur to begin easing off his cloak and chainmail.

Arthur sniffed contemptuously as Merlin’s fingers worked. “Learn anything useful?” he asked.

“Constellations. It’s fascinating what they can tell you,” Merlin said, sounding dreamy.

“I’m so glad to hear that you spent a month away from Camelot to learn about _stars_ ,” Arthur grumbled.

Merlin shrugged. “There was a story I heard about a star that I thought you would like. But if you’re too busy with your kingly duties tonight, I can save it for another day.”

Arthur wavered for a perilous moment, eyeing Merlin’s bed in the corner that looked extra enticing and cosy after several nights of sleeping in the woods. “All right, let’s hear it,” he said, stripping off the rest of his clothing and flopping unceremoniously onto the bed.

Merlin followed him, settling into Arthur’s arms before beginning the story. “There once was a simple cowherd looking for a place to graze his cattle. He searched far and wide before stumbling upon a lush green field. Among the grass was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. The girl was weaving a colourful bolt of cloth, and when she looked up and smiled at him, they both knew their destinies had been set.” 

“Sounds like any other love story the bards tell,” Arthur said, unimpressed.

Merlin dug a sharp elbow into his side. “It gets better. The girl turned out to be the daughter of the sky goddess. When the sky goddess found out that her daughter had fallen in love with a mere mortal, she dragged the girl back up to the clouds. The cowherd’s grief was so great that he flew up to the sky to try and find her. When the sky goddess saw him in the clouds where mortals could never be, she tore the sky apart in her anger, separating them. But the magpies took pity on the couple, and every seventh day of the seventh month, they fly up to the sky to form a bridge, letting the girl and the cowherd spend one day a year together.”

Arthur frowned, feeling discomfited. 

“Look. It’s the seventh night of the seventh month. They’re meeting each other tonight,” Merlin said, pointing out the window where two stars were shining brightly in the night sky. He turned to look at Arthur, smiling. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too,” Arthur said, a thing easier to admit in darkness than in light. He dragged Merlin in for a kiss, making up for a month’s absence in a moment. His fingers fumbled for the oil Merlin kept on the little table by the bed. 

“I would never,” Merlin said fiercely, shuddering as he pushed back down onto Arthur’s fingers. “I would never let anyone keep you from me, gods or no gods.”

Arthur groaned, savouring the slow glide as he slid his cock into Merlin slowly. “You’d better not,” he gasped out. He held onto Merlin’s hips with one hand and took hold of Merlin’s cock with the other, stroking him eagerly. 

“I would ride the dragons across the sky to you,” Merlin panted, rocking back and forth as he moved in time to Arthur’s thrusts, “and build the sky back up to reach you.” With a shout, he came messily between them. 

Arthur moaned in relief as he came inside Merlin a few beats later, collapsing bonelessly onto the bed. “But what on earth did you learn from that story?” Arthur asked, once he had caught his breath. 

Merlin smiled at him. “That sometimes even an impossible love can find a way to work.”

“Well,” Arthur said grudgingly, pulling Merlin closer to him, “perhaps there’s something in druid tales after all.”

* * *

**17.**

Warnings: past character death, necrophilia/corpse reanimation/people coming back to life

[La Pascualita](http://www.odditycentral.com/pics/la-pascualita-the-corpse-bride-of-mexico.html)

Merlin passed by Pendragon Fashion every day and every day he stopped to nod his head at Arthur. Sometimes, Merlin would get lucky and no one would be crowding the display window, no one watching Arthur in fascination. Then, Merlin would let his magic extend and Arthur would smile the slightest bit wider, his fingers would twitch just a bit to greet him, and Merlin would wiggle his fingers back at Arthur and murmur that he'd see him later.

He wasn't lucky this morning. There were five teenagers surrounding the storefront and talking animatedly. He stopped to watch Arthur for a few moments and overheard them.

"Everyone is crazy. He's clearly a mannequin. No one looks that perfect," claimed one of the boys.

"But look at his hands! The scar above his eyebrow!" exclaimed one of the girls.

"He is rather detailed," the other girl said.

"It's a mannequin! Not a corpse," the first boy replied.

"I don't know, my aunt used to work there and she said that she swears he moves. She had to change his clothes every week and apparently _everything_ is detailed," another boy said.

"You mean he actually has a cock?" the third boy chimed in, "that's hilarious. Your aunt probably quit because it turned her on!"

Merlin shared a smile with Arthur and mouthed 'tonight' at him before he walked away.

"He just moved! Look!" the first girl yelled before Merlin walked out of earshot.

****

Merlin's hands shook with nervous energy as he was unlocking the door. Tonight was the night he could see Arthur again. The magic only worked on the biggest Sabbaths and this was Lithia, the summer solstice.

He finally unlocked the door and walked into the store. He headed over to the display and pushed a button for the blackout curtains to descend and then opened the display door. Arthur was still standing as he'd last left him.

It had been, lucky, really. Arthur's death had been sudden and unexpected, but the timing couldn't have been better. It had been Samhain and Merlin had been able to work his magic and cast a spell that would give him Arthur back. Not permanently, never permanently, but Merlin would take what he could get. Uther had accepted the gift of a mannequin cast in Arthur's perfect likeness with ease; he'd put Arthur in the storefront window with a sign that proudly proclaimed that the window was a remembrance of Arthur. The rumors had started soon after.

Merlin walked up the steps and stood in front of Arthur. His face was still perfect, Arthur hadn't aged but a few days while Merlin had aged years and now had wrinkles around his eyes. Merlin sighed with resignation; he knew that this couldn't go on for much longer. He'd have to let Arthur go eventually and give him the peace he so deserved.

Tonight was not that night. Merlin stepped forward and cupped Arthur's cheek, he leaned down and kissed Arthur's lips, and felt his magic flow out of him. Arthur's cold skin grew warm and Merlin felt Arthur's body relax. Arthur's hands wrapped around his waist and Merlin was pushed back against the curtains.

"Welcome back," Merlin said when Arthur stopped for a breath, "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too. If I could," Arthur started to say, but Merlin shushed him and kissed him again. Arthur responded eagerly, it had been too long since they'd had this.

They were desperate and quick, hands pulling at clothes and nearly tearing them off in their determination to touch naked skin. Merlin pushed his hand inside Arthur's shorts and stroked his hard cock. 

He savored in the hard length in his palm and how it was warm with the blood pulsing through it. The thought of Arthur standing here cold and lifeless again made him pause briefly before he pushed Arthur's shorts down.

"Take me, I'm ready," Merlin said. Merlin was never patient enough to wait for foreplay the first time and always came prepared.

Merlin closed his eyes and gripped onto the curtains as Arthur pushed inside him. Arthur pulled on his cock in time with his thrusts and Merlin came so quickly he would have been embarrassed if Arthur hadn't come moments later.

One last kiss and they sank to the floor. Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin and they clung together. Neither of them spoke, they lay in silence trying to stretch the moment. He hadn't meant to sleep, but Merlin woke up cold as dawn approached. Merlin smiled sadly at Arthur's motionless form and morosely redressed Arthur and reset the storefront.

* * *

**18.**

Warnings: Implied past dub/non-con, crack? (IDEK guys)  
Myth/Legend(fairytale) Used[12 Dancing Princesses](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Twelve_Dancing_Princesses)

Once upon a time, there was a great king whose heart had gone hard. He blamed all magic users for the death of his beautiful wife; any time a sorcerer was brought before him, they were quickly sent to the headsman’s block.

One fateful day, the mother of the sorcerer who had just been killed came forth and cast a great curse upon the king. She would take from him what had been taken from her, but in the most cruel way possible.

"You will see your son sicken and die before your eyes, and you will be powerless to prevent it. Then you will know the tragedy of burying a child."

Enraged, the king called for his guards, but it was too late. The witch vanished in a cloud of smoke, leaving only the legacy of her curse behind.

~*~

Soon after, as promised, the king's son began to sicken. Every night he seemed to vanish into thin air, only to return come morning, tired, pale of face, and walking with a most unusual gait.

Perplexed, the king called upon every healer in the land, but none could solve the riddle of the prince's illness. So the king made it known to all, that any person who could discover the secret of the witch's curse, would be given anything their heart desired. But whoever tried and did not succeed, would be put to death themselves.

Very soon a knight named Valiant came along, who greatly desired fame and fortune. He was tall, broad of shoulder, and very well liked amongst the ladies. He was given a room beside the prince's so that he might be able to sit and watch what happened each night, but as soon as the clock tolled midnight a magical haze fell around him until he fell fast asleep, oblivious to all the prince did.

After two more nights of the same, the king ordered his head cut off.

Despite the knight's failure, others came, and soon they all faced the headsman's axe.

~*~

Now it happened that not long after the witch’s curse, a young boy named Merlin wandered into Camelot. Though a farm boy, he had magic, and as he continued to hear stories of the prince, he found himself growing more and more intrigued.

One night, as he lay awake thinking of the beautiful prince, a great summons echoed in his head.

"Merlin,” the voice called, and when he followed it he found himself facing a mighty dragon. It spoke of destiny and then it blew a warm breath upon his brow and told him that he would be immune from the witch's curse. “Go to the king and tell him that you will do what none have succeeded in before,” it instructed, “and when the time comes, you alone will be able to give the prince what he needs.”

So saying, the beast flapped its mighty wings and flew away.

~*~

That night, Merlin stood guard beside the prince’s room, and when the clock tolled and the mist rolled in, he remained unaffected. He followed the prince, who he had begun to think of as Arthur, until he came upon a glade in which there gathered a great many of the fairy folk, fair of skin and sporting impressive erections all. Arthur lay down upon the ground and moaned as a harlot, until one of the fairies took pity upon him.

Just as the fairy was about to breach the bespelled prince, Merlin’s magic responded by instinct. Arthur was his. The fairies were forced away as if some magical storm brewed within the glade, and when none remained, he stalked forward.

“You are free,” said he, as he knelt and looked into the Arthur’s eyes, which were wide and overjoyed at the words. He hesitated, “I will not take from you anything you do not wish to give.”

But Arthur was so overwhelmed in his pleasure, so grateful, he could do nothing but nod eagerly and spread his legs wider in response.

It was only a moment for Merlin to divest himself of his clothes. He pressed close to where Arthur’s body was ripe from the spell, and then joined with him as the dragon had foretold.

~*~

The next morning, the king called for Merlin who told of his breaking of the curse, if not exactly how. The king was so overjoyed that he hadn’t the heart to refuse Merlin’s request to stand beside Arthur’s as his consort.

* * *

**19.**

[Osiris, Egyptian god of the afterlife and the dead (and also immortality).](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Osiris)

 

The air is hot and so thick it's hard to breathe. Sweat slides down Merlin's back and makes his shirt stick to his skin. He hasn't been to Egypt and he's unused to this kind of heat. As the taxi Merlin and Arthur take from the airport weaves in and out of traffic, a feeling of unease grows in Merlin until it sits like an uncomfortable stone in the pit of his stomach. Nothing he looks at seems _right_ but just being there feels ... familiar, somehow.

When Arthur decides to have a kip when at their room, Merlin feels too off to try and sleep. He goes to the hotel coffee shop and sits at a small table. Frowning as he looks out the window, he's trying to figure out what's bothering him when someone sits down at his table uninvited.

The man is in a clean white linen suit. He's wearing an odd hat with feathers, and he has a long, neat beard that comes to a point.

And his skin is shimmering _green_.

Surprised, Merlin glances around; no one pays them any mind or notices this unusual man.

"Hello, Emrys," he says. "They can't see me."

"Osiris," Merlin greets as the name pops into his head out of nowhere.

Osiris smiles wanly. "I felt it as soon as you arrived, but I was not expecting you yet."

"Arthur is on a business trip," Merlin tells him, still unsure as to why he's not more worried about sitting across from a _god_. Or that he even _knows_ who Osiris is, feeling like they've been acquainted once. "I accompanied him because ..." He's about to say _I've never been_ and that's why he'd felt so drawn. Suddenly that doesn't seem like the right answer.

"Because this place called to you?" Osiris suggests. "I think it always has. Always will."

Merlin thinks, _No, it can't be time yet._

"You can't take me from him," Merlin says fiercely. "I won't let you."

"You never have. There is a destiny to be fulfilled," Osiris says with a bright smile, which isn't all that comforting coming from a god of death and forever. "I will not take either of you until it comes to pass. Nor will any others."

"Aren't we to end in Avalon?" Merlin still doesn't know where these thoughts come from, they're just popping to mind and it feels right deep down to his bones. He even knows that they've even been to Avalon for a spell before ripped right back out.

"The afterlife is the afterlife, no matter its name," Osiris says. "I'm not sure yet who'll be your guide to your final peace. But, please, hold no fear while you are here now."

Merlin nods and sips his coffee. He's distracted for a moment, a flutter of something outside the window. When he turns back to the chair across from him, it's empty.

Of course it's empty. Arthur is upstairs. Who else would be there?

When Merlin goes to Arthur, Arthur is stirring in bed and mumbles hello. Merlin pounces on him, kissing him with a fever that could match the heat outside. He's all hands and mouth, desperately touching and kissing everywhere he can. Arthur goes with it, sensing Merlin's mood, giving Merlin exactly what he needs.

Merlin goes down on Arthur greedily, sucking on his cock as he rolls Arthur's balls gently in his hand. After this long, he knows exactly how to drive Arthur wild, having him panting and gripping at Merlin's hair, fucking up into his mouth. It's not long before he's coming down Merlin's throat, and Merlin swallows it all, loving the familiar salty tang.

Merlin kisses Arthur again, and together their hands work on stroking Merlin's cock, already so hard from the enthusiastic blow job. Merlin comes, possessively biting Arthur's shoulder, shooting all over Arthur's stomach. He reaches down, spreading it around as if he's marking Arthur as his, and only his. Arthur makes a face, but laughs and lets Merlin get away with it.

"You know," Arthur murmurs as they catch their breath, "I feel like I've been here before."

"Me too," Merlin says, "but neither of us have, right?"

"Right," Arthur agrees. 

They curl up together to sleep, limbs clinging and hands gripping, as if afraid to let each other go. When Merlin wakes, he feels much better than when they first landed in this country, all worry vanished from his mind. He's looking forward to his time here.

* * *

**20.**

Warnings: threesome/moresome, exhibitionism, voyeurism, facial

[Paul Bunyan](http://bettermyths.com/paul-bunyan-was-a-log-drivin-man/)

**Stuff of Legend**

 

Even years after the event, I had to question why I had allowed myself to be talked into such madness.

Sir Percival was famed for leveling a forest singlehandedly, taming beasts twice the size of normal men, defending villages with his might alone, creating rivers with a single stroke of the sword. He was the man everyone wanted to be. And yet when our little group, no more than four if memory serves, approached him at the inn the man, a giant just like in all the tales, seemed completely unawares that his person held so much awe. In fact, he didn’t recall any of the incidences we recounted.

His disbelief grew with the stories, probably due to the drinks in him as he’d seemed a stone with no expression before them. He hadn’t been alone then, accompanied by another man who had since gone to secure their room.

Eventually, we had somehow explained, in a roundabout way, why we were there. And Sir Percival brushed us off. The night had seemed lost, but now…I don’t remember how it happened, but somehow we’d convinced him to stay and gotten his breeches open to the air.

We’d long believed, if we could just touch him, be allowed to give him pleasure and the like, we might take on some of his strength, or at the very least be able to boast about the deed.

He wasn’t so convinced, but his face loosened under John’s tongue. Our man eventually got himself seated on the knight’s cock, though it looked painful from our view. He was thick as a birch; many of us saw we would only be able to use our mouths.

John’s squirming was doing nothing but annoying him. In fact, he’d raised his hands to remove him when a laugh came from the stairs. Everyone froze as Percival’s companion stepped from the shadows, a manic grin on his face.

In an instant he’d strode over and nudged John away. Our compatriot moved with a decided limp. “Mate, that is not the way to take a cock like this. You’ve obviously not done it before.”

“Gwaine.” I shuddered at the warning rumble. There was even a stir in my own breeches.

Gwaine ignored him and pulled an unlit lamp across the table, prying it open and dumping it in Percival’s lap before the large knight could do anything more. “First off, you need oil, lots of oil. Spit just won’t cut it on a monster like Percy here.”

Percival growled at him, staring down at his sodden breeches and back up with a definite loathing. But it turned to thinly veiled shock as Gwaine stripped his own breeches, lined up Percival’s massive meat, and sank onto it, like it was nothing. A titter ran through the others, my own mouth gaping.

Gwaine gave a toothy grin and braced his feet wide to move slowly. Percival groaned and rested his face between Gwaine’s shoulder blades. Gwaine, for his part, ignored him as he stroked his own cock. A few in the group were even eying him now. But I only cared for myself at the moment as my hand had found its way into my breeches.

Gwaine saw me and jerked his head. I stared a moment before he snapped, “Well, come on. He won’t last all day.”

I scrambled forward and dropped to my knees at a look. He let go of his cock long enough to reach below himself and ripped Percival’s breeches. Percival cursed and muttered, “You are a dead man, Gwaine.”

Again Gwaine ignored him and grinned at me. “Go on then.”

Breath coming in short spurts, I leaned forward and licked across the exposed sac. A gentle mumble and shift downwards encouraged me to do more. Unfortunately I couldn’t fit both balls in my mouth but I paid equal attention to them, rolling them with my tongue. I was nearly distracted enough to not notice Percival’s cock driving into Gwaine just above my head.

I was forced back a few moments later as Percival stiffened and his balls seized. My hand pressed firmly down on my own cock as some of Gwaine’s fluid hit my face. The knight smirked down at me and reached to smear it over my face and onto my mouth. “Aren’t you a pretty one?”

With a small groan he rose and sank to the floor beside me, reaching for my breeches. “Don’t worry. He’ll be ready again in a few minutes.”

* * *

**21.**

[The Snake Prince](http://etc.usf.edu/lit2go/144/the-olive-fairy-book/5147/the-snake-prince), a tale from India, as collected in Andrew Lang’s _The Olive Fairy Book_.

 

"Tell me the secret of my birth," Arthur says, standing on the bank while the moon rises and the water rushes. The river speaks more than his father ever has, and truer, because water can never hold a lie; it moves as they say his mother once moved, quicksilver-bright, ever at home in the moonlight.

"Tell me the secret of my birth," he repeats. Two times asked, two chances to repent. The third will come with no such reprieve, and since Arthur needs none, he wastes no more time. He asks, and the water answers. His body changes.

Arthur slips into the river for the first time as himself: snake-man, serpent-prince, whole.

*

By day there are knights to oversee, council meetings to endure, and his father’s every wish to uphold.

By night, there is freedom.

*

A cottage lies upriver, small, ramshackle, but somehow all the more charming for it. Arthur enters it silently, his snake-body leaving long, winding tracks of river mud on the wooden floor. A man sleeps at the table, head dipped low over a book, the wild, dark mess of his hair perilously close to a candle flame. Arthur sighs and slithers up the table, snuffing the candle with a brief, painful flicker of his tongue. He watches the man for a time, the fascinating angles of his face in the moonlight, all lines and curves and deep, tempting shadows. 

Arthur flickers his tongue once more, touching it to a furrowed line between the man’s brows, then leaves as silently as he had come.

*

The man is asleep in bed the second evening, his shoulders and back bare to the room. Arthur rests his muddy head on the linens and considers the man’s smell, all green herbs and skin-musk, alive in a way that nothing is within the stone walls of the castle. 

This man is earth, where Arthur is water. That seems perfect; that seems right. 

This man lives by day, where Arthur is only truly alive at night. That is wrong.

 

*

Arthur enters the house a third night, knowing as he does that the action is binding, a seal.

The scene has changed. 

The man is awake, sitting calmly on the side of the bed, bare feet on the floor. There are four bowls on the floor in the corners of the room; two of sugar, two of milk. The room writhes with snakes.

The man is either very brave, or very stupid. Arthur says this aloud, with no thought that his sibilance will be understood. But the man grins at him, wide and open, and says, "I'll take the former, thanks." He walks to the door, ankles brushing against twisting, muscular bodies without a care, and says, "The prince has arrived; it is time for you to leave."

And they do, to the last.

"My name is Merlin, and three things I have to offer you by night," the man says. "Food, should you need to eat. Conversation, should you care to talk. A door, should you wish to leave."

Merlin's bottom lip looks sweeter to taste than any sugar or milk, and the door, open now to the night, has a latch that Arthur could work with his hand by day. As does every door in his father's castle, should a prince be ready to stand against his king's wrath on the other side.

Arthur imagines the sun on Merlin's skin, and thinks, perhaps, that he is.

Arthur coils around himself slowly, comfortably. "How is it you understand me, and command my kin?"

"Oh," Merlin says. "There is a secret to every birth."

*

By the early rays of morning light, Arthur takes his first taste of Merlin’s lips, rolling their bodies flush together. He licks, then bites down softly; when Merlin says, “Toothy when you’re like this too, aren’t you?” Arthur nips harder, pulling Merlin’s lip between his own.

This time, Merlin can only groan. Arthur finds he likes it.

Arthur wants to savour every bit of Merlin, so he does, mouthing his way down Merlin’s body, skin flushing warm under his tongue, scent heady to his nose. Reaching Merlin’s cock causes his own to swell, and he rubs Merlin’s tip with his lips, then flicks it delicately with his tongue, over and over until Merlin buries his hands in Arthur’s hair.

The first time Arthur comes, it’s with his cock grinding against the bed while he takes Merlin in his mouth as deeply as he can. The second time it’s with his hand around he and Merlin both, pulling and pulling, as he bites down on Merlin’s shoulder hard enough to raise a bruise. 

He comes a third time in Merlin's arms, in Merlin's bed, and that is how it will be ever after.


	2. Part B (with links and warnings)

**22.**

**warnings: major character death**

Myth/Legend used: The Epic of Gilgamesh (although you should just read the Myths Retold version, no really, do it.)

*

“You were made for me.”

“You _ruined_ me.”

“You saved me.”

*

“It will not be undone.” Arthur’s voice is flat, but Merlin can hear the anger underneath it. He attempts a smile.

“You know better than any how temperamental the gods are,” he says.

Arthur’s eyes are fiery.

“They would kill you for my insolence?”

“ _Our_ insolence, Arthur, you know it.”

Arthur scowls, and Merlin’s eyes slip closed.

“I saw it,” he says quietly. He can see it still. “I had a dream. I saw them meet, I saw them decide the just punishment, I saw them argue our fate. This is chosen as punishment for you as much as me.”

“I am _sick_ of dreams,” Arthur spits out. He turns on his heel and leaves.

*

“You will not be forgotten,” Arthur says. 

Six days have made Merlin weak, he can barely sit straight, and his lungs rattle and heave with every breath.

“I will see to it. No person shall ever forget your name, or the things we’ve done together.”

Merlin wants to laugh, but he can’t squeeze it out past the tightness in his chest. 

*

He wants to scream and rage, he wants to curse the gods for his very creation, he wants to curse the one who brought him here, who took him away from the content simplicity of his former life, only to bring him here to this aching, bloodless, inglorious death.

But he can’t, not when they gave him Arthur, beautiful, fearless Arthur. Arthur who laughs so freely and loves him so fiercely. 

He can regret anything but that.

*

“Please, Arthur, please.”

Merlin kisses him softly, then harder. It takes all his strength to pull Arthur into him, to lick open his lips, to thumb away his tears.

Arthur kisses him back.

*

Arthur’s thrusts are slow, measured.

Torturous.

“Do you remember,” he breathes into Merlin’s ear. “The day we met? The day we fought?”

Merlin can’t speak, he bites his lip, clinging to Arthur’s shoulders, and nods. All sensations of pain, of sickness, of tiredness have fallen away, all he can feel is Arthur, around and inside him, hot and big and _there_.

“And then you knelt before me and pledged your loyalty,” Arthur whispers, licking the shell of his ear. “I have loved you from that moment to this, and to the burning of the world.”

Arthur bites at his neck, twisting his hips, and Merlin cries out.

*

The next day Merlin is worse.

*

He’s alone, in the dark emptiness, and then he’s not. The images change and twist and flutter, first a man, then lion, then an eagle, there’s a sharpness at his wrists and he’s bound, he’s being dragged down, down endlessly, he struggles and fights and he can’t escape and he’s in Hell and he can see them, clad in feathers and dust, crowns laid in an inelegant pile at their feet, their faces hard, priests and kings and gods, and in the centre sits a woman, a queen and they are all turned towards her and it’s cold and burning and airless and he can’t move and there’s another woman kneeling before her reading from a stone tablet the queen turns and looks him straight in the eyes she stares and he can’t move or breathe and she opens her mouth and --

Merlin shudders awake, gasping. Arthur’s arm tightens around him as he sobs.

*

Merlin’s body is cold the next morning. 

Arthur’s grief burns hot.

* * *

**23.**

 

Myth/Legend Used: [Bloody Mary](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bloody_Mary_%28folklore%29)  
Warnings: horror genre

"Bloody Mary --- _Bloody Mary_ \--- **_Bloody Mary_** ”

~~~

A malevolent scream rips through her lungs and fills the chill night air as she is reborn into existence. Summoned to kill those with the blood of the innocent on their hands, vengeance is hers to find, hers to deliver for those unable to tear through the veil and do it themselves.

This time and place is overflowing with hands stained a deep crimson, dripping with the screams of those lost. She slinks through the shadows, crawling out of any reflective surface to drag the guilty to the gates of Hell. Hundreds are avenged at her hand, but it’s not enough. Never enough to satisfy her hunger for revenge. She needs more. She needs--

A King.

~~~

Gliding through the castle is childsplay, the extravagant decor and excessive mirrors make it too easy to slide through the halls and into the King’s chambers. The stench of guilt hangs heavy in the air, making her sick with disgust and shiver with the anticipation of vengeance. She slips into the mirror over the washbasin and patiently waits for her prey.

Moments later, King Arthur and his Court Sorcerer burst through the door, waiting until it’s shut and locked behind them before exchanging hurried exclamations.

“Mercia is yours Arthur!” Merlin all but shouts and shoves the King back into the wall, gripping his armor and pulling him forward for a joyous kiss. A kiss of victory that was paid for by fallen sons, daughters, mothers, and fathers. 

The King responds quickly, pressing forward into the warm body that’s currently trying to wrap itself around him. He peppers kisses over Merlin’s brow, across his cheeks and down his neck. “Because of you. Because of you.” Arthur repeats like a mantra into the divot of his shoulder.

He nudges Merlin to the edge of their bed and gently shoves him down, pinning his hands above his head and pushing his legs apart. “Clothes.” Arthur says as a command and then grins as Merlin’s eyes flare and nothing remains between them.

She watches in sick curiosity at their happiness, trembling with joy that she will be the one to take it from them. She will wait until they’re riddled with pleasure and satisfaction before stealing it all away.

The King pushes two fingers inside Merlin’s slicked hole, keening in pleasure at the tight heat he finds. He wastes no time in preparing his lover, taking him to the very edge of his breaking point; until Merlin is writhing underneath him, cock bobbing angrily between them.

“Arthur, _please_.” the warlock begs and pulls his legs up further, wantonly putting himself on display for his King.

Arthur gives in, bracing his hands on Merlin’s shoulders; gently pushing past the tight ring of muscle. She takes in the way they both quiver, how their muscles ripple in pure desire as they constrain the need to move; to fuck.

Eventually Arthur gives in and thrusts with abandon, grabbing Merlin’s cock and stroking in time with the piston of his hips. Neither of them last long; Merlin screams Arthur’s name as he paints their stomachs with the proof of his release and Arthur moans into the crook of his neck as he comes deep inside him.

They collapse on the bed together in a tangled pile of sweat and come. The King takes his sorcerer in his arms and pulls him tightly to his chest. It’s not long until she hears their breath even out and their chests rise and fall in a steady rhythm. 

Calling upon the ancient curse that binds her to this world, she summons the power to break free from her bindings. One hand grips the edge of the mirror, then the other, and she pulls herself through the barrier and sprawls onto the floor. Bones disjoint and twist unnaturally as she crawls across the cold stone and up onto the bed, leaving a trail of blood in her wake. She sits and stares at the huddled lovers, taking a moment to savor the justice of the judgement she’s about to deliver.

She studies the sorcerer closely, so burdened by the choices he’s made to stay by his King’s side. His regret hangs heavy in the air, so thick she can taste the heady scent on her tongue.

It’s time.

She’s leaning in close to deliver the promised retribution, the blood of their victims dripping from her hair and skin, when the sorcerer’s eyes snap open and blaze a furious gold.

* * *

**24.**

Myth/Legend Used: [Oliver’s Ferry](http://www.rideau-info.com/canal/tales/olivers-ferry.html) (a myth/legend from the Rideau Canal in Eastern Ontario, Canada). 

**Oliver’s Ferry, 1834**

Merlin reined in his horse at the small shanty on the shores of the Rideau River. Night had fallen on his journey down the small, dirt road which cut through the wilderness of Upper Canada between Brockville and Perth. 

“Who’s there?” a gruff voice called out. 

“Merlin. Are you the ferry master?” He replied, watching as the man came closer into view. 

“That’s me,” The man grinned. “But the ferry’s closed.”

“Please, sir, I’m heading to Perth,” Merlin explained, thinking of how sour Arthur would be if Merlin was a day later then his letter had said. 

“It’s dangerous out here when it gets dark,” the ferry master said. “Come rest and dine at my place. First light, I’ll see you across the river.”

At the promise of food, Merlin’s stomach growled. He was still miles from Perth and he was already trying not to fall asleep on his horse.

“I guess that would be okay.”

“Excellent, call me Oliver.”

**Rideau Ferry, 1976**

As a high school dropout and slight alcoholic, Gwaine lived paycheck to paycheck doing odd construction jobs all over Eastern Ontario. They were always the same. The sun strokes, the pelting rains, the cold mornings, and the freak thunderstorms; Gwaine hated them all. 

The only good thing about the job was Percival. 

“Fuck, yeah, that’s it,” Gwaine groaned as Percival rammed into him. He was pumping his hips with brutal force. They were on break, hiding in the wooden house that was supposed to be demolished later that day. There was only a few minutes before another worker would come looking for them. 

“Come on!” Gwaine edged on, stroking his cock hard and fast, desperate for release. 

With a final grunt, Gwaine came, splattering the wall in front of him. Percival followed quickly. 

“Mmmm, there is something to be said for quickies,” Gwaine grinned, leaning against the wall with his pants around his ankles and his shirt tucked up around his armpits. 

“You should cover up before someone sees us,” Percival said, zipping up his pants. “People would hate it if they knew we were together.” 

“Why, because you’re from Perth and I’m from Smiths Falls?” Gwaine laughed. 

“Don’t pretend to be stupid,” Percival frowned. 

“Perth, Perth, Get off the Earth, And let the green grass grow!” Gwaine chanted, marching on the spot. His foot went through the floorboard. 

“Are you okay?” Percival asked, rushing over. With a groan, the floorboards gave way and the two fell into the crawlspace beneath the old house. 

Gwaine felt his breathe leave him a second time, as he came face-to-face with a human skull. 

**Oliver’s Ferry, 1834**

Merlin had never shown up. Despite his letters promising many carnal pleasures and despite Arthur waiting, in the nude, for the dimwit to arrive, Merlin had never made it to Perth. 

Arthur was now desperate to find him. 

Between Perth and Brockville much of the land was useless. Thin soil, acres of bogs and swampland, and deep lakes made for poor settlement. Oliver’s Ferry was the closest village. 

“You looking to go back across the ferry across the river?” Oliver, the ferry master, asked as he saw  
Arthur approaching

“No, I’m looking for a man. Tall, skinny, dark hair, big ears?” 

“Oh, big ears you say? Funny name? Merlin or something?” 

“Yes.”

“I took him across the ferry, just as he asked. Did he not make it to Perth?” 

“No.” 

“Well, I pray the high way robbers didn’t get him. You can never tell who’s dangerous travelling these roads.”

**Rideau Ferry, 2012**

Merlin was quite happy to be on his knees, cock in his mouth, bobbing up and down as Arthur moaned above him. 

“Did you know Rideau Ferry used to be called Oliver’s Ferry?” Arthur asked. Merlin ignored him and sucked on the head. Now really wasn’t the time for random trivia. 

“Apparently the ferry-person killed people, bunch of skeletons were found,” Arthur moaned. “Weird to think, all those people dying in our little village. I mean, our LCBO is only a shelf in the General store. Why’d you stop?”

“Is this really the time?” Merlin demanded. “Let me finish blowing you before talking about skeletons and stuff. Okay?”

“Just ... have you been on a ferry?” Arthur asked. 

“No?” 

“Good, had a weird dream,” Arthur muttered. “You can get back to blowing me now.”  
Merlin would have complained about Arthur acting weird, but really ... he was more than happy to get back to the task at hand.

* * *

**25.**

The Imp Prince

Arthur watches Merlin roll his hips into the cool waters. The man of magic wears only the small token Arthur left at his bedside earlier that morning. The blue faerie necklace with his mother's sigil matches Merlin's eyes and glimmers off his skin. 

Love finally was found.

Arthur does his best to stay still. 

The faerie magic concealing his body from his enemies at court was for all the senses, but somehow Merlin always knew he was there. Always called him out for watching him.

Morgana never knew, when Arthur exacted his small revenge for her plots to destroy him, Gwen never knew when Arthur saw her betrayal with the young court musician, but somehow Merlin saw through the shimmer of this faerie protection. Even now while wading in the pools Arthur knows Merlin senses another presence.

"This is beautiful my Imp of the Night." Merlin splashes a little into the water, careful not to get the lightly bejeweled piece around his neck wet. "I shall wear it always."

Arthur licks out tentatively to the air, tasting what he can of Merlin's body in it. The Imp Prince, as he is now called, rests his palm over the lengthening desires between his legs. 

How many nights has he pleasured himself while wanting this enchanted man? How many nights has Merlin know what Arthur was doing and joined him?

Merlin arches his back down into the water and wets his hair before turning and rising enough so he is barely hip deep facing away from the prince. The water beads and slips down the lower part of Merlin's back before pooling at the slight dip and trailing a path between a place Arthur dreams of licking every night since coming to Avalon. 

Arthur lets part of his invisibility fade, the part of this gift that lets him be heard. "Sometimes I don't think I'll ever understand you." Because how can this man of magic not know what he does to his "Imp of the Night"?

"Haven't fathomed me out?" Merlin turns back around pouting. There's a pucker to his wet lips that makes Arthur whimper at thoughts of what those lips should be doing. "I thought I was being obvious. I'm trying to tease you. I want you to show me who you really are. A demon? A child of Oberon? Why won't you let me see your face?"

The consequence of revealing himself is losing the power to hide. It's better that his enemies can't find him. More importantly now that he knows he loves Merlin, physically revealing himself puts Merlin in danger. He's being selfish enough in staying at all.

The man of magic starts to leisurely fondle himself in this pool of Avalon. A low tree provides some shade, but the sun's rays add a sheen to his ivory skin. Arthur pulls harder at himself, not bothering to stifle his moans. 

"If you are a demon in these lands, you will be punished. Do you want me to punish you?" Merlin fists himself, obviously thinking of a punishment worthy of the imp he has lived with for almost a year. He moves to the edge of the water so Arthur can watch every detail of his hand gliding seamlessly over the tip and back down the thick veined shaft. 

Merlin whispers, "Touch me."

_"No, I am not demon nor fairy,"  
"I am Unhappy Lover,"  
"Who does not dare to appear in your eyes;"  
"Feel sorry for my destiny..."_

Merlin laughs at him while still teasing drops of arousal from his cock. "I am your destiny. Avalon only permits the fated."

Arthur doesn't believe him. The man though beautiful and hauntingly sexy has proven to be an idiot in a great many things. This must be another of them. Arthur has no army to defeat Mordred and only the fairy's invisibility allowed him to defeat Morgana.

Arthur's hand already still from his thoughts of regret, trembles as another set of fingers intwine with his own. 

"You are forgetting, my young Imp Prince. I have faith in you. And... I have my own magic to see your true heart. I only need for you to see what I already do then show me what fate has in store. Arthur, let me see you."

* * *

**26.**

Myth/Legend used: [Frau Holle](http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/grimm024.html)

Note to self: don't fall down wells.

Apparently, bottoms of wells did not, as Merlin expected, contain water. They contained beautiful countrysides with pleasant breezes and the soft warmth of the sun. 

They apparently also contained some sort of BDSM aficionados, because on his way down the winding road, he found a hot guy tied up, naked, with his erection straining against his belly.

"Please," the guy said, "Please, I need to come. Please make me come."

Maybe that should be, note to self: fall down ALL the wells.

Who was Merlin to refuse a request like that? He spat into his hand real quick and then began pumping the man's cock. Took only a few strokes to get him off -- Merlin figured he'd been left wanting for a while.

"Should I untie you?" he asked, then began licking the come from his fingers. The man shook his head, so Merlin shrugged and walked on.

Just a few minutes later, he came across a woman who was tied against a wide pole. She seemed to have slightly more clothes than the man he'd encountered, except that her ass was left completely exposed. Next to the pole lay a paddle.

"Please, sir," she said, "Please punish me."

Let nobody say that Merlin wasn't a good Samaritan. He took up that paddle and spanked her good, until she broke down sobbing.

"Want me to untie you?" he asked, and she shook her head. Merlin walked on.

To be honest, after that build up, Merlin kind of expected to find a dungeon or something at the end of the road. Instead, it was just a simple country cottage, with some blond guy tanning himself out on the front lawn.

When he approached, the blond guy lifted his shades and sat up. "You look like you need a... job."

That sounded like a euphemism. Merlin hoped it was a euphemism. Because Merlin actually did quite need a wank right now, and had only put it off in fear of the sun going down before he found some place to sleep.

"Yeah, I really do," Merlin replied, hoping the blond guy would pick up on the subtle "hey hey I'm really horny let's fuck" vibes.

The blond guy jumped up and clapped his hands once. "Great! I need you to make my bed and fluff my pillows. They've been sitting unfluffed for _ages_ , it's really getting to me."

That... did not go how Merlin expected. He frowned, and tried to protest, but somehow he got roped into being the prat's -- Arthur's -- manservant. And every day he fluffed pillows, beating them against balcony and watching an endless amount of feathers fly uselessly to the ground. How the pillows still had any feathers in them was a mystery.

Then one day, as he was fluffing, Arthur came up behind him and tied his hands to the balcony railings. It happened so fast that Merlin didn't have time to protest.

"You've worked so hard, I've decided to reward you," Arthur whispered into his ear. Oh. Ohhh. Yes please.

Arthur pulled Merlin's trousers and pants down and began palming at his ass. "Spread your legs," he ordered, but didn't even wait to press a lubed finger against Merlin's hole. Merlin pressed his forehead against the railing and tried not to moan when the finger breached him.

Arthur was good. He knew how to draw it out, he knew just when to curl his fingers and when to brush his knuckles against Merlin's balls. It was the best fingering of Merlin's life, so that when Arthur pulled his fingers away completely, Merlin actually keened. 

Those fingers were soon replaced by something better: Arthur's thick cock, pounding into him. Arthur reached around and began stroking him, rubbing his thumb over the slit, tugging on the foreskin. 

"Lance and Gwen said you were good," Arthur said, and Merlin had no idea who they were but damn he was glad they gave him sparkling references if this was the reward. Heck, all the hard work the past few days was worth it just for this.

He couldn't stop himself from screaming when his orgasm ripped out of him, more intense than he'd experienced in a long time. Come shot out through the balcony railing, probably landing wherever those millions of feathers always did.

Just that morning he'd considered going home and telling his step-mother and step-sister about his adventures. But fuck that, Morgause and Morgana didn't deserve to know about this. 

Maybe he wouldn't even leave.

* * *

**27.**

Myth/Legend Used: Baltzli  
[Title Page](http://img821.imageshack.us/img821/8817/78568378.jpg) [Page One](http://img84.imageshack.us/img84/581/94072866.jpg) [Page Two](http://img443.imageshack.us/img443/4677/25924267.jpg) [Page Three](http://img17.imageshack.us/img17/4431/28491580.jpg)

Sweat dripped down Merlin’s face. The land was hard, and the proprietor was watching, so he had to till it all with only the force of his muscles.

It was a dirty job that only paid in mouldy bread, but it was better than starving, and Merlin rejoiced in the little things.

As he lay under an apple tree fantasising about the fruit it would eventually bear, he swept his fingers across the sky, drawing a brilliant rainbow to keep him cheerful and to help him ignore the rumbling of his belly.

***

“It’s like magic,” said a man off to Merlin’s left.

Merlin sat up abruptly, whipping his head around to look at the intruder. The man was looking up at the sky in wonder, not a hint of malice on his face. Merlin took a chance and patted the ground beside him, saying, “Is it, now?”

The man, who introduced himself as Arthur, grinned and sat beside Merlin, unpacking a seemingly bottomless satchel and handing Merlin a generous helping of ham and cheese.

They chewed more than spoke and lay down to sleep easily, as if they had always set up camp together.

Sensing Arthur’s body mere inches away that night, his belly full, Merlin thought he’d found heaven.

***

Heaven, it turned out, was subjective.

After some time, midnight rainbows and an endless food supply became heated skin and desperate passion.

As Merlin was painting the sky, Arthur climbed on top of him and pressed his tongue past Merlin’s lips, pushing into his mouth and staying there. Only when Merlin’s hands were clutching Arthur’s shoulders and his hips were rocking up into Arthur’s did he pull back and press a series of gentle kisses to Merlin’s lips.

His wet mouth against Merlin’s ear, Arthur whispered, “Can I fuck you?” and Merlin may have said, “God, yes,” or he may have merely ground his cock against Arthur’s, willing him to feel the way Merlin wanted him.

Whichever it was, Arthur ended up kneeling between Merlin’s legs, his arse up in the air. He licked sloppily along Merlin’s cock, kissing him from root to tip before he pulled the head into his mouth and sucked.

As Arthur worked his mouth over his prick, Merlin thanked every star in the colourful sky for this beautiful dream.

***

Every day at dawn when Merlin set off to tend the farm, Arthur would whisper against Merlin’s brow, “I’ll come back if I can.”

***

It wasn’t a dream. His own tongue pressing against Arthur’s hole weeks later was evidence of that.

Arthur rocked back against Merlin’s face, groaning his pleasure, begging for Merlin’s cock, and Merlin gave it to him.

He pressed in and leaned forward, sinking his teeth into Arthur’s shoulder and revelling in the perfection of Arthur’s moans.

“Fuck you like this always,” Merlin said, and Arthur grasped his hand, squeezed his fingers as his arse squeezed his cock.

“Love your body,” Merlin grunted. “Love your beautiful fucking body.”

He pulled out and pushed Arthur onto his back, wanting to see his face, to watch his chest rise and fall and his mouth fall open in pleasure.

Merlin watched his cock press inside Arthur’s body, leaned forward and kissed Arthur deeply. He ran a thumb across Arthur’s brow, trying to push the excess of his affection into Arthur’s skin.

He wrapped his fingers around Arthur’s prick and tugged, needing Arthur to come for him. He said as much, telling Arthur how much he loved to watch him.

Merlin raised up onto an elbow, one hand still working Arthur’s cock. Arthur’s fingers tightened around Merlin’s biceps, and Merlin watched his face as he came, lips parted, head tipped back, eyes open and laid bare.

Watching his lover come undone for him was the greatest gift Merlin had ever been granted. He cradled Arthur’s cheek, smearing his release over the perfect display of Arthur’s chest.

***

When Arthur did not return one day, nor any day after, all that remained was the heavy burden of loss. Merlin had known joy, had tasted it on Arthur’s lips, and though Merlin spent every evening trying to recall the character of Arthur’s scent, he felt no regret.

The apple tree was in bloom and would soon bear fruit, just as serenity had been borne in Merlin. Eating his mouldy bread, Merlin smiled and drew a rainbow across the night sky, because Arthur had loved him, and no amount of hunger could erase his gratitude.

* * *

**28.**

**Warnings:** Non-con, tentacles. Non-con tentacles.

Myth/Legend Used: [Raven Annoys Octopus](http://articles.latimes.com/2003/feb/06/entertainment/et-story6)

 

The sea flickered an iron gray that mirrored the sky. Wind blew in over the waves, cool and damp, smelling of salt. 

Uther sat upon a flat-topped rock, half of its volcanic heel submerged in the surf. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. His skin washed translucent, shimmered a pale purple, then back to its usual brown tone - the color of wet sand. 

He sat alone on the beach, contemplating his own body, until a figure appeared. A young man, tall and slender, approached from behind. He wore linen pants that hung loose and a linen shirt of similar fit and quality. He wore no other adornment save three glossy black feathers, tied with twine into his black hair and tucked behind one ear. 

When he stood near enough to be heard, he stopped, bare toes clutching at the soft, wet ground. “Are you alright?” he asked. His voice came oddly muted, caught and dissolved by the sea mist. Gulls wheeled and called overhead, sharp eyes skimming for edible bits of flotsam. 

Receiving no reply, the young man ventured a little closer to Uther’s rock. He spoke louder, asking again, “Are you alright, Uther?” 

Still, Uther made no answer. His skin prickled, flashing milky, purple, and milky once more before settling on a pale mimicry of his natural color. 

The young man stepped closer yet, until he stood near enough to rest a hand upon Uther’s shoulder if he chose, his voice loud and clear as a shout when he said, “Uther, are you alright?” 

Uther turned, slipping off the rock in one liquid movement. The young man choked, eyes wide over the grip of a long, slick appendage coiling tight around his neck. When he stumbled back Uther followed, bearing him down into the sand with two more inhumanly dexterous arms. “Merlin,” he said, “Yes, I am fine.” 

Merlin jerked, struggling under the hold of Uther’s multiple limbs. A wave rolled across his legs and over his chest, soaking him through. The tide was rising. “I’m glad to hear it. Now please, let me go,” Merlin said.

Uther’s grip on Merlin’s neck tightened, more long, faintly purple tentacles slithering closer to wrap around Merlin’s wrists and ankles, splaying him wide like a starfish. “Why shouldn’t I be fine, Merlin?” he wondered aloud. One appendage thinned and lengthened, climbing up Merlin’s leg under the sodden weight of his pants. Another wove between the buttons of his shirt, and a third snaked up his other leg. Merlin gasped, a fresh wave washing across his open mouth, making him cough and buck against Uther’s hold.

Uther tipped his head, considering the frail body in his grasp. His unnatural limbs twitched with barely tested strength. Where they touched human skin, his tentacles secreted a viscous liquid that helped create a seal for rows of round, reflexively gripping suckers. 

Curious, Uther directed the two arms exploring Merlin’s hip and thigh to his groin. Merlin’s eyes went round and he wiggled like a beached fish, mouth gaping, breathless. Uther touched over the limp length of Merlin’s cock, around the soft shift of his balls and below. As he encountered the tight entrances to Merlin’s body, at cockhead and between the soft meat of his rear, his tentacles flinched and tightened, narrowing thin and oozing slick. They probed closer, and while the tentacle at Merlin’s cock only teased inside his slit, the tentacle at his hole centered and screwed in, narrower than a child’s smallest finger to start but slowly expanding once seated. 

Merlin’s throat quivered under Uther’s hold. His distress passed his lips in weak stutters, eyes rolling when Uther punched deep and slow, testing the give of Merlin’s body. Then Merlin’s cock began to firm, reluctant, drawing Uther’s attention. Abandoning his exploration of the head for a gathered twist around the shaft, Uther shuttled his coils up and down, rapidly bringing Merlin to fullness. 

He experimented with a thicker press inside Merlin’s hole in concert with a long, tight pull. Merlin jerked, cock leaking. A fresh wave rushed over them, fully submerging everything below Uther’s shoulders. When the swell receded, Merlin spit up a gout of water, chest fluttering, panicked. Uther pressed a row of suckers to Merlin’s balls and began to pump a steady, inexorable rhythm. 

He listened for the next wave, tightening his hold on Merlin’s neck as he thrust and sucked and tugged at Merlin’s groin. 

When it came, Merlin’s eyes rolled back with the tide, his salt mingling with the sea’s.

* * *

**29.**

Myth/Legend Used: [The Cowherd and Weaver Girl](http://www.chinaculture.org/gb/en_chinaway/2003-09/24/content_28844.htm)

The summer passed by in a blur. It was the happiest Merlin had ever felt, working hard at being the village healer while Arthur brought home game and took care of the house. They had a little garden in which they grew vegetables for food, too. Hunith, Merlin’s mother, lived in the house just opposite and she brought them frequent gifts of linens and baskets.

This happiness was in most part, thanks to the little white dragon that Merlin kept. One day, it had come rushing through the windows, breathing little fireballs that singed the tablecloth and shrieking about a man in the river. Merlin had followed him, curious and a little afraid. He had found a man, yes, but oh, what a man, with hair that shone in the sunlight and eyes that seemed to be of the same shade as the cloudless sky. The man had been bathing in the river, his fine red cloak on the bank, but with a strong wind, the cloak flew away and Merlin chased after it until he had it safely in his arms, ready to return it to its owner.

“Your cloak,” Merlin had croaked, trying not to stare. The man narrowed his eyes, and then smirked.

“I’m Arthur,” he’d replied.

Merlin thought it very abrupt and strange. And then said Arthur stepped out of the river, bare as the day he was born, and gently took Merlin’s face between his hands and kissed him. Merlin’s arms wound around him of their own volition and they had lain together on the river bank that day, reveling in each other’s bodies.

Later, when Merlin asked Arthur to stay, he agreed, but not before hesitating, looking at the sky.

Of course, such idyllic happiness did not last for long.

What Arthur did not tell Merlin was that he was a Pendragon, of the royal family of the skies. A day there was half a year on Earth, and once Uther had found that his eldest son was missing, he’d turned mad with rage and sent out his best riders to find him. Arthur had resisted but to no avail, and the last Merlin saw of him was him being taken back into the skies, swearing that he would find some way to come back. In the chaos, Merlin had been terrified and confused, and finally realizing that Arthur wasn’t coming back, prepared to resign himself.

Until a certain white dragon demanded that he chase after Arthur, that is.

“Command me to fly into the skies,” he said, “for you are a dragonlord.”

And thus Merlin rode the little white dragon on the heels of Arthur and the riders that Uther had sent. 

The little dragon was fast, ‘tis true, but Uther saw them approach, and just before Merlin reached Arthur, he threw down his crown which turned into a vast river of stars, forever separating the lovers.

**

“Do you regret it?” Merlin asked, “Agreeing to come and live with me that day?”

They were twined around each other, his fingers on Arthur’s golden skin, the other hand pumping him slowly as Arthur jerked. 

“N-no,” Arthur replied, gasping, “or I wouldn’t have, for a time, enjoyed life on Earth with you.”

Merlin smiled and kissed him deeply, his tongue pushing insistently between Arthur’s lips, tangling with Arthur’s in a wet, clinging dance.

“We only have this day, the seventh day of the seventh month when the dragons lead me to you,” Merlin said, “and while for you it is two days, for me it is a year. A year I have to go without seeing you.”

“I am sorry,” Arthur replied, softly, pulling apart with a wet sound, “But I cannot for the life of me let you go, to live a life with someone else.”

“Worry not, for I would not, even if that was your wish.”

They clung together, holding each other, making the most of their time before the sun came up.

* * *

**30.**

Myth/Legend Used: [The Cowherd and the Weaving Girl](http://traditions.cultural-china.com/en/13Traditions289.html)

When the magpies burst away from the bridge, a flurry of feathers obscuring the brilliant sky, he smiled. Anticipation already had his heart racing. The joy from watching the birds take flight simply added a fresh surge of energy.

A soft body collided with his, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling into the hair at his nape to drag his head down. Her mouth was hot and lush, hungry for kisses he only needed a moment to return, and as he scooped her into a full embrace, she bit at his lower lip, a shock of electricity that went straight to his balls.

“Slow down,” Lancelot murmured when she gave him the chance to breathe. His hands slid to cup her full bottom, encouragement she barely needed to climb up his body and grind against his now-hard cock. “There’s no rush.”

“There is.” She pulled back, and for the first time, he got to see her, the wide desperation in her brown eyes, the faint blush warming her cheeks. Curls had fallen loose from where she’d pinned it, tickling along her cheeks where the breeze caught the tendrils. “All we have is today.”

“All day.”

“Less than twenty-four hours.”

“And you’re wasting it by talking?” When she slapped at his chest in protest to his teasing, he laughed. “Ah, there’s my lady. As spirited as ever.”

“I’ll show you spirited.”

Her sudden release surprised him, the shift in her weight enough to drive him back a single step. Those scant inches were all she needed to push him down, knees hitting the bridge first, followed quickly by shoulders and back. Though her skirt kept her legs hidden from view, he didn’t need to see them to feel the way her thighs tightened around his hips, or how nothing kept her wet heat from him but the thin layer of his trousers.

“Don’t move,” she instructed. Without looking away, she slipped her hand between them out of sight but not out of touch. Nails she always kept blunt for work scraped along his aching cock as she fumbled blindly with his zipper. Lancelot couldn’t breathe, could barely manage to obey her demand. Twenty-four hours was never enough. When they were apart, he did everything he could not to dwell on what he couldn’t have, but here, now, with her eager fingers tight around his shaft, he didn’t understand how he could leave her behind again.

“My—”

The rest choked off, stolen by the swift intersection of her flesh to his, hot, slick, all-encompassing as his head swam, his clumsy fingers grasping at her hips to keep her still. His attempts failed, her need driven to greater strengths, and he had no choice but to rise up, meet her strokes, slam into her again and again and again with the pulse of all the stars that usually fell between them…

“…Lancelot!”

The world crashed around him, the sharp jolt in his shoulder jarring him from sleep. His head jerked up from where it had rested on his folded arm, and he blinked blearily at a grinning Merlin standing on the other side of the telescope.

“You fell asleep taking measurements again.” Merlin nodded to the open notebook in front of Lancelot. A wet spot where he’d drooled wrinkled the edge of the right page. “What star system knocked you out this time?”

Wiping at the corner of his mouth, he glanced at the notes, though he remembered all too clearly. “The same one.” Lyra. Though more and more, he thought of the bright star as a different name.

Merlin’s mirth softened. “You should call her,” he said quietly.

“She doesn’t want to hear from me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“She chose her work.”

“So did you at one point. But you’re having second thoughts about that now, too, aren’t you?”

God help him, he was. They’d both agreed their careers were too important to abandon, even though their directions diverged, separating them for months at a time. But every time he had to gaze upon Lyra, he remembered the Chinese fairy tale about the weaver girl and the cowherd who could only spend a single day together once a year, and he couldn’t fathom how they could survive it.

His hand shook as he picked up his phone. As he dialed her number. But when her voice leapt across the distance to greet him, breathless and eager as his dreams, the nerves vanished. 

“Hello, Gwen…”

* * *

**31.**

Myth/Legend Used: [Casey at the Bat (American Folklore)](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Casey_at_the_Bat)

Warnings: Grammar, common sense, and good taste have been sacrificed in service of the rhyming scheme. You probably should have let me write Greek mythology.

  
**Percy at the Bat**  


The mood was hot, electrifying in Camelot that day,  
For folk all knew that in the keep, the knights were hard at play.  
Sir Gwaine’d laid down a challenge that could not be denied,  
To see if any knight of theirs could make Merlin satisfied.

King Arthur smirked and snickered, but finally did agree;  
Merlin never came untouched with anyone save he!  
So spread across the Table Round lay Merlin in the buff,  
Roused and slicked and ready for the knights to prove their stuff.

Gwaine went first as challenger and struck his cock in deep.  
Merlin moaned politely and then tried to catch some sleep.  
Never known for self-control, too soon Sir Gwaine was done.  
"A worthy try," Merlin cried. "But you can see I have not come."

Sir Elyan stepped up next, proud brother to the Queen,  
With a cock as large and gorgeous as any there had seen.  
"I’m going to fuck you, Merlin, until you scream and spurt,  
With such a massive climax that your balls will surely hurt."

Unlike Gwaine, he took his time; he used his prick with grace  
And slowly fucked a look of joy right onto Merlin’s face.  
But Merlin’s arse was perilous: so hot and tight and sweet  
That Elyan came against his will and nearly lost his feet.

Queen Guinevere left her throne to pick her brother off the floor.  
‘Twas clear to all the spectators they needed someone more:  
More strength, more skill, more stamina, and able to resist  
The siren call of orgasm till Merlin falls to bliss.

"I’m your man," Sir Leon cried, flinging off his clothes.  
The assembled court cheered him on to curl Merlin’s toes.  
Indeed, when Leon entered him, it seemed he’d have more luck,  
For Merlin clearly did enjoy his perfect, steady fuck.

But though they fucked for quite some time, he never quite got there.  
Merlin just hummed a happy tune as Arthur stroked his hair.  
At last even sturdy Leon had to admit defeat  
As he pulled his cock from Merlin’s arse, shrunken and replete.

The Queen then called Sir Lancelot to bravely join the fight:  
"If anyone can pleasure him, it’ll be my best-loved knight!"  
"We’ll see," her husband answered and kissed brave Merlin’s face  
While Lancelot rubbed between his legs and got himself unlaced.

He eased his cock in Merlin’s arse; a true knight never shoved.  
Merlin sighed with happiness; looked up at him with love.  
Hard and harder Lance did fuck, making Merlin’s body sing,  
To prove that he could lose control with someone not his King.

But even Lance fell short at last, when his knees began to quake.  
"Are you close?" he gasped in hope, and groaned at Merlin’s shake.  
He gave it up and came and came; the knights all sighed with grief.  
Was no one left to win the day (and give Merlin some relief?)

The Great Hall doors banged open and the people roared,  
For Percy stood there naked, and he swung a mighty sword.  
His cock was huge and thick and red, and hard as hardest steel.  
The King and Merlin gaped in awe: they knew shit just got real.

"Percy! Mighty Percival! He has come to save our pride!  
For surely even Merlin can’t resist that massive ride."  
Sir Percival swaggered forward, amidst the cries of lust.  
He said: "Get ready, Merlin: now it’s orgasm or bust."

Servants poured lube over him. Arthur looked on with a frown,  
Worried that mighty Percy’d be the man to bring him down.  
All the lords and ladies there went glassy in their eyes,  
Waiting for the moment when Sir Percy claimed his prize.

Merlin more than anyone was breathless with desire;  
The first press of Percy’s cockhead in set his loins afire.  
In pushed Percy, in and in (and in and in, with force of will),  
Until Merlin lost in rapture writhed, arse completely filled.

Locked in pleasure, on they fucked, thrashing, straining, needful touch--  
But Percy’s sudden climax proved he’d taken on too much.  
When Percy fell back, limp and stunned, Merlin sat up with a pout,  
Still hard and stiff and leaking--mighty Percy had struck out.

"Enough!" cried Arthur, stripping down. "I’ll show you how it’s done."  
He slid right into Merlin’s arse and promptly made him come.  
The knights all bent their naked knees to the man who’d won their play;  
Despite defeat, they’d had much joy in Camelot that day.

* * *

**32.**

Sea Goddess Creation Myth - based on the story of Sedna

Warnings: character death, murder, dismemberment, necrophilia, bestiality (all in the context of the original myth); also incest, more bestiality (in the context of the retelling)

There once lived a great King named Uther with two children - the elder, Morgana, a girl dark and beautiful as the night sky, and the younger, Arthur, a golden son bright as the sun and his father’s pride and heir.

Word of the daughter’s great beauty went out across the land, and she had many suitors, but she refused each in turn, spurning them, as she was a proud girl and vain. “Send Arthur away to marry instead, Father,” she sneered, “and leave me to inherit the kingdom!” In time, her father grew angry and vowed he would marry her to the next suitor who came to their gates. When a cloaked figure arrived at their castle in deepest winter, the King thrust his daughter towards the stranger, bidding them marry and leave the kingdom forever.

The stranger, face hidden in furs, complied. Morgana was set in a small boat, and the stranger paddled them through icy seas to a distant island. Accustomed to a great castle, jewels and comforts, Morgana looked around and saw neither house nor shelter, just bare rock, ice, and cliffs. The stranger pulled back the cloak to reveal no husband, but the terrible, beautiful face of a woman. “Sister,” she said, “You share a father with the Prince who will one day rule all of Albion, but with me, you share a mother, and we are sisters. You shall live with me and cook for me, and we shall be as one.” The woman kissed her, and Morgana saw that she was one of the bird-folk, the sorcerers of the Old Religion.

Morgana screamed and fled, racing across the rock and cliffs to the bare shores of the island. Hearing her cries, her brother urged their father to hurry to the island for his sister’s sake. Taking her into their craft, they set course back to their kingdom.

But the bird-sorceress grew angry and conjured the powers of sea and sky, setting a violent storm to follow them and upset their craft.

The King saw the storm approaching and paddled with all his strength, but soon feared their boat would be lost. Now, the King was a coward, bitter from the loss of his wife, and he feared magic and sorcery above all else. He thought to himself that their boat could travel faster with fewer passengers. Without warning, her turned to grasp his daughter and tossed her into the waves.

Well that could have been the end of the tale – but it wasn’t. Morgana had such a great heart, that she swam with all her strength, ‘til she gripped the side of the boat, and would not let go. 

But the cold of the ice-water had chilled her fingers, and the cold of the winter wind froze them solid. Uther raised his paddle and with a great *crack* brought it down upon her fingers, breaking them off. Morgana lost her grip, and fell back into the icy waves.

Well that could have been the end of the tale as well – but it wasn’t. Morgana had such a great heart that she found a magic of her own. “If the sea is to be my home,” she thought, “I will not dwell here alone.” She sank down into the dark depths, her broken fingers floating around her, and she called each finger in turn.

One finger caressed her long black hair, smoothing and separating the tangles. She shook her hair free, letting it billow in the currents, and the finger became the first seal, laughing in the dappled light of the sea.

Another finger touched her lips until they parted, and she drew the tip of the finger into her mouth, stroking it upon her tongue. Her magic spread, and in moments she found herself kissing the playful whiskers of the first otter, who rolled and somersaulted in the ocean swell.

The last finger teased at her sex, until her pleasure peaked, releasing waves of warmth and contentment through the ocean depths. From this finger formed the whale, mightiest of creatures, slow and gentle as the tides.

Morgana lives on as the Goddess of the Sea. The great beasts of the ocean are her lovers and companions. She harbours great rage against the King on the Shore and sends fierce storms to torment his people. To calm her, her golden brother swims down to her and combs her long, tangled black hair, as she has no fingers to do it herself.

* * *

**33.**

**A/N:** This is based on a very little known legend found [here](http://www.crossroadsforcultures.ca/pirates/index.php?narId=11&language=en)

Morgana stands at the ships rail watching as they move away from the sinking Dutch pirate ship. Captain Pendragon had arrived just in time to rescue Morgana from an uncertain fate. They had abducted her on her way to France and her cousin Abbess Morgause, away from the turmoil in Ireland and her father’s estates. She was to be educated in France and relative safety but that appears to not be the case anymore. The privateer captain was bound for the new world making that Morgana’s new destination as well. 

She hears a sound at her side and turns. A tall bearded man is standing behind her holding what appears to be a cup of wine, “Is milady thirsty?” he asks with a roguish grin. 

“Thank you,” she says and takes the cup. The man continues to stand next to her. Not taking the hint that he has been dismissed. 

“You are a pretty one, princess. Arthur for once did something I agree with in principal anyway, names Gwaine by the way,” the rogue whose name apparently Gwaine says as he sidles up next to her by the rail. 

Morgana hides a grin at his audacity, “You are a brave one.”

“Brave is one of the better things I have been called,” Gwaine says with a twinkle in his eye,  
“should you be in need of anything else on the voyage princess, don’t hesitate to ask me,” Gwaine gives her an elaborate bow before turning and walking away.

~~~~~

Over the next week little things start to appear in Morgana’s living space. First an orange next to her plate at dinner, next a new handkerchief on her bedside table, finally she catches Gwaine leaving a book of poetry beside her cabin door one night.

“Just thought you would like a couple niceties while stuck with us, ”Gwaine says as he tries to sneak away. 

Morgana smiles and holds her hand out to him, “You sir, are sneaky. Would you like to escort me around the deck?” 

Gwaine holds his hand out, “It would be my pleasure.”

From then on they are inseparable. Every waking moment not taken up with work they spend together. They become favorites of the crew as Gwaine coaxes Morgana out of her black mood and brings life back into her eyes. 

At the end of the tenth day as the sun is setting they are married before the crew and passengers alike. Captain Pendragon officiates and Doctor Emrys plans the wedding meal. 

As soon as they can Gwaine takes her hand and pulls her away from the celebrating crowd. They run hand in hand down the narrow corridor and into the captain’s quarters.

Gwaine pulls Morgana into his arms and kisses her, “The captain said we could use his cabin for the night,” he says between kisses.

Morgana looks at him with a mischievous look, “I say we put them to good use then.” 

They stumble to the small bed shedding clothes as they go. When they get there Gwaine falls to the bed and pulls Morgana on top of him kissing her neck as she settles straddling him. 

“You are making me a very happy man, princess,” he says as he grins up at her. 

Morgana smirks and runs her finger along his length, “Oh you haven’t seen anything yet,” she says she positions his dick and sinks onto it. 

“Oh jesus,” Gwaine gasps his hands settling on her hips as he thrust up into her. 

Morgana meets his thrusts and bears down on him. Her hands running along his chest and abs tweaking his nipples each time they pass. 

“My princess, mine, my princess,” Gwaine mutters as he speeds up his thrust, sounds echoing off the small cabin.

Morgana leans forward and kisses him, slipping her tongue into his month and licking his tongue as they both come with a gasp. 

“Love you,” Gwaine murmurs into her hair before falling asleep.

Morgana moves off of him and settles by his side with a small sincere small on her face, “I love you too, my prince.”

~~~~~

“Welcome to this new found land, my princess,” Gwaine’s grins at her as he lifts her from the launch and carries her through the surf.

Morgana smiles brightly at him as she leads the way ashore.

* * *

**34.**

Myth/Legend Used: [Oberon](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oberon) / [Jack Frost](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jack_Frost)

Oberon might be king of the fairies, but he gives the worst head Merlin has had in a hundred years. Skull against the brickwork of The End of Days Inn, Merlin grits his teeth, trying not to say, “You’re the perfect height for this without even kneeling, how are you not better at it?” 

He steers his cock back between Oberon’s – now mercifully spit-slicked – lips, gathers a loose fistful of blond hair in an attempt to take charge. He looks down, but what he wants to see – Arthur superimposed, tight-mouthed and doe-eyed for him – won’t come, even as Oberon’s hands make a decent, if miniature, facsimile on the back of his thighs. 

Jack Frost – lanky and all in black – slinks around the corner, bottle dangling from his pale fingers. Smirking, he stops; watches Oberon bob overenthusiastically and gag. Catching Merlin’s eye from inside scribbles of liner, he gestures to the way he’s come, but Merlin beckons him over, palming the back of Oberon’s neck in encouragement.

Arousal finally makes his heartbeat stagger as Jack gets right in his ear, frigid breath fanning his heated lobe. “Not getting what you need, conjurer?”

He traces tiny shivers along Merlin’s lip with the pad of his finger, turning his chin to take his mouth in a bitter, whiskey-flavoured kiss. Chill suffuses Merlin, trickles down his chest as if spikey, sprawling crystals are forming in his cells, and coaxes noises he's acutely self-conscious about from between their mouths. As they kiss, hard and familiar, thin, icy fingers curl around his dick, meeting Oberon’s mouth where it floods heat to the tip. Together they make Merlin cave about his navel.

Pressing into his side, Jack mouths Merlin’s neck, nipping at the juncture where it meets his shoulder with stony teeth. “Better?”

“Yes.”

Word a harsh whisper, Merlin closes his eyes as Jack sinks down, and – with a huff of derision at Oberon and a clink of bottle on concrete – takes his place at Merlin’s feet. Fast and filthy he delivers almost painfully icy little licks to the straining, heated flesh, before swallowing Merlin all the way down into his glassy throat, sending jagged shudders up to push apart his vertebrae. Merlin lifts onto his toes, spreading his legs wider when he can settle again, peering through his lashes to watch. 

Jack draws away, sticking out his tongue to tease the slit, breath a foggy cloud around the shiny pink head, even though the air is that of summertime.

It’s not solely responsible for the shiver that racks Merlin’s body: a warm, small hand trails up his thigh, and with hot, sloppy kisses to his hip, Oberon touches under Jack’s chin to find the sensitive skin behind Merlin’s balls. Sliding across Jack’s tongue with a sharp thrust, Merlin grabs at Oberon’s fringe, finally seeing Arthur in the splay of blond between his knuckles, ludicrously close to the edge as he hovers between goosebumped and feverish. 

A twist of Jack’s tongue, a brush of stealthy fingers, and Merlin slips from Jack’s mouth. With a groan, he comes, coating Jack’s chin. The whiteness crackles, turn to icicles that cling to Jack’s skin, and between too-fast breaths, Merlin pushes out, “Sh – oh shit, sorry.” 

With a smirk, Jack picks off the shards and drops them onto his tongue. Using Oberon’s shoulder as leverage, he staggers to his feet, pressing Merlin back against the wall, hands heavy on his hips. Open-mouthed, he kisses, pushing in until Merlin feels his own spunk melting where they meet. 

A tiny, tinny moan echoes somewhere behind them. When Merlin looks past Jack’s shoulder, Oberon’s wiping his fingers on a lavender handkerchief plucked from the pocket of his waistcoat and muttering that this isn’t immoral, and neither is wanting to turn your adopted offspring into henchmen. 

“And people think you’re barking,” Jack whispers, close enough to make it a secret. 

“Droll.” Shrugging off the weight of Jack’s body, Merlin rearranges his clothes.

“Nearly autumn. What colour do you want your leaves, conjurer? Crimson like your dead king’s cloak again?” 

Merlin ducks his head. “He’s not – Arthur won’t always be once. He _will_ be future, one day.”

“And I’ll be fucking sunshine,” Jack says, reaching for his bottle, “one day.”

Merlin walks away. He comes here to see the only person in the whole of time and space who really understands what it’s like to live frozen; it’s been centuries, but he hasn’t learnt that it doesn’t take away the cold.

* * *

**35.**

Myth/Legend Used: [Mawu and Liza](http://www.mamiwata.com/mawu.html). Loosely based on. 

 

They only meet once a year at most, and the time they steal together is never enough. It’s never long enough for either of them. 

Arthur holds Merlin against him, their bodies curled up tight. Merlin is cool against him and Arthur burns. It’s how they’ve always been. Arthur brings warmth to the world, light it up and chasing away the darkness. Merlin is as cool as the night air, creating darkness.

They balance each other out, and without them the world would burn and everyone would be lost in darkness.

But they are forever kept apart, traveling different paths through the sky.

Merlin moans and presses his forward to Arthur’s, wrapping his legs around his waist. 

Their time is already running out. They could feel it from the moment they touched. Fingers clinging in desperation as they had pulled off clothing and moved against each other knowing they would be together only to be ripped away. They had tried to ignore each other for centuries, believing that the pain would be less when they had to part. It hadn’t worked. They’d only ended up regretting the time they had missed out on.

So they went back to stealing the few moments they had together and clinging to the memories until the next time they were able to meet. 

Arthur thrusts into Merlin, his cock hard and Merlin moans gripping at his shoulders. Arthur laughs in sheer joy at being able to touch him and Merlin smiles. This isn’t the first time they’ve done this during the current meeting. They try to get in as many times as possible. It might not even be their last time, the days had gotten longer giving them precious moments. 

Arthur groans, pressing his forward to Merlin’s neck and coming. Pulling out to look at his handy work. Merlin is still hard and ready, so Arthur sinks down on him. He rides him hard, their bodies slick with sweat. Arthur burns and Merlin shivers unaccustomed to the heat but loving it just the same. Finally, Merlin falls apart and comes.

Arthur collapses at his side and they both are breathing hard. Their fingers intertwine. 

They go again, sucking and swallowing. Holding each as close as they can and talking, trying to fill in the months and years they’ve been apart. Arthur tells of a family he’d been watching, the lives they’ve lead and the children they have. Merlin talks of the stars he’d seen died, how he wished he could have saved them but he couldn’t divert his path and just had to watch.

Their time runs out and they kiss, clinging to each other before letting go, going in separate directions. Arthur starts to fall as Merlin rises. Their time has ended and it will be years before they can be together again. They go back to passing each other in the sky, exchanging longing looks and counting down the time until they can meet again. They are the moon and the sun, rarely touching.

* * *

**36.**

Myth/Legend Used: [Area 51 (conspiracy theories)](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Area_51#UFO_and_other_conspiracy_theories) & [Aurora aircraft](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aurora_%28aircraft%29) & (mentioned) [Roswell UFO Incident](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roswell_UFO_incident)

“So it's all real then?” Arthur says, trailing a pace behind the tall, skinny scientist in a lab coat and looking around with unabashed wonder.

“Yep.”

“This is Area 51?”

“Yep.”

“So... Roswell?”

“Aliens.”

Arthur thinks of all the conspiracy theorists and UFO nuts who would quite literally give an arm and a leg to see even a fraction of the things he's seeing.

“We need a pilot,” the scientist- Merlin, according to his name tag- is telling him, “for a top secret prototype aircraft.”

Well, if it's a pilot they need, they've certainly chosen the best. Arthur sits a little straighter with pride and nods. He starts slumping again shortly thereafter when he sees the pile of paperwork he has to sign.

They run him through dozens of medical checks and training sessions, checking every possible thing he thinks _could_ be checked plus an extra dozen on the side. One day, they tell him he's ready and then... they just leave him alone.

He just sits around and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

He's still getting paid. It's not a bad gig, really, getting paid to sit on his ass all day and throw pens at Merlin. But he's a pilot and he likes being high in the air, not stuck underground. 

Quite frankly, Arthur is bored.

Merlin is wild and erratic and doesn't always shower or eat or brush his hair because he forgets what day it is or how long it's been since he last did those things. But he's also funny and has a good smile, so Arthur ends up sitting with him nine days out of ten, bouncing a tennis ball off the wall.

The tennis ball gets confiscated after he breaks something important and expensive, so without quite meaning to, he takes to memorizing things like the perfect curve of Merlin's neck when he's scribbling away on sheets of graph paper, or the shape of his fingers when he twirls his pen, or the arc of his silly ears half obscured by dark hair. 

He needs a haircut, Arthur thinks, then he huffs and walks away to get lunch from the cafeteria.

Several weeks later, just when Arthur thinks he might be close to reaching the end of his tether, he hears Merlin shouting his name. He's already in a thin white t-shirt and boxers and on his way to bed, but Merlin's voice is echoing down the hallway and probably waking everyone up.

Arthur looks up and suddenly Merlin is in his doorway, and then he blinks and he has an armful of enthusiastic scientist wiggling and giddy with unrestrained glee.

“I did it,” Merlin tells him in a rush. “I did it. I did it. I did it.”

“What?” Arthur says.

“You're going to fly tomorrow,” Merlin says, joy shining in his eyes.

“Oh,” Arthur says, and smiles back at him so widely it's a wonder his face doesn't split in two.

He blinks again, and just like the last time, he misses something and then Merlin is kissing him hot and hungry and Arthur doesn't even think, he just sits down on his bed and pulls Merlin with him into his lap.

He'd never thought Merlin would be like this: panting and writhing and begging him for more, more, more. If you'd asked him before, not that anyone would have, he might have guessed that Merlin would be shy in bed- all long, awkward limbs and soft smiles. But the way Merlin is now is so far from that dream that it's almost a joke.

Merlin is demanding and rough and maybe he's still riding his scientific high, but Arthur's never been with someone quite so enthusiastic. Merlin straddles him and begs Arthur to open him up with fingers, one-two-three, and then he comes, eyes upturned to the bland, concrete ceiling and pretty red mouth falling open on a silent cry.

Arthur goes to pull away and Merlin grabs his wrist, orders him not to stop, not now, not _ever_. Arthur complies because he was so very badly to see that look on Merlin's face again, but this time directed at _him_.

It's not the last time Merlin comes that night and he makes sure Arthur gets his due as well. In the morning he's limping a little and apologizing to everyone and everything he bumps into. But every time he catches Arthur's eye, he breaks into a little breathless smile and the memory of it keeps Arthur cheerful all through the rest of the day.

Today, Arthur's going to give those conspiracy theorists something to _really_ talk about.

* * *

**37.**

Myth/Legend Used: [(Butchered) Snow White and the Huntsman](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snow_White)

**Snow Doesn't Mean Pure or Snow White Wasn't a Virgin**

"Once upon a time in a land far, far away—"

"You're absolute shit at this." 

"—there was a Prince who fell victim to a terrible spell."

Arthur scoffed, staring down at the parchment like it offended him. 

"What is your problem now?"

Arthur pointed down at the paper. "Terrible spell?"

"This is the version for our children, Arthur! This is the story that will be told in halls all over the land. I can't put down what really happened." 

"Why not?"

Merlin sighed, "Because no one wants to hear about the bit where Morgana strolled into a war camp in the middle of the night and caught us shagging."

"Shagging? I was _ravishing_ you! It is a testament to my superior skills as a lover that your magic was going mental. I mean, come on! The land definitely needs to know about my cock of awesome. In fact, I think that should be the title: Prince of Awesome Cock."

Merlin went back to writing. 

"—a terrible spell, while he was in the midst of falling in love," he wrote, glaring at Arthur while he continued. "The spell was so powerful that it drove his love to madness, forgetting that the Prince was ever asleep and therefore, the spell could never be broken. Because only a single kiss from the Prince's true love would ever awaken the Prince to rule justly and fairly and true. 

“So, the Prince slept on and his true love wandered the land for five whole lifetimes before the tides of fate changed and the knights—You know, it's strange to call them knights because by the time you woke up, they weren't really knights anymore. Maybe we should call them something else, something fluffier? Cuter?" 

"Arthur?"

Merlin looked up from to find Arthur eyes closed and his mouth parted, panting. Merlin narrowed his own gaze. "What are you doing?"

Arthur grinned, "I'm getting in the mood to remember what happens when the Prince is awakened by the 'kiss' of his true love." 

"Arthur! Stop _wanking_ and pay attention," Merlin screeched, trying to kick Arthur's leg underneath the table. "I'm not going to tell the world I woke you up with a blowjob."

"But that's what happened! You said so! You said--"

Merlin stomped his foot. "I know what I _said_."

"Golden glittering cock! You said it called to you and you had to suck it," Arthur said, a little breathless but probably not from indignation. "Besides, how can you skip out on the part where the magic of my come brought back all your memories?" 

"Because this is a children's story, Arthur! You complete pillock," Merlin muttered. "Besides, then I'd have to include the part where you woke from a dead sleep, begged me to fuck you and then rolled over and presented yourself like the cheapest slag in the land. I can't have everyone knowing you as the Bottomest Bottoming King in All the Ages, because although that's true—"

"Whatever you say, Merlin," Arthur purred. Merlin watched in shock as Arthur sunk back into his chair, head tilted to expose the beautiful line of his throat and the unmistakable splay of muscles in his arms that indicated he was working his cock with the tight clench of his fist. 

He watched for a moment before giving in and walking over to Arthur to card a hand through his hair and watch as he worked his leaking cock.

"Should I write of the way you begged for me to take you, voice ragged with time, while your cock was still soft after my mouth," Merlin whispered, tugging on Arthur's hair and watching as his hips arched. "Should I tell of how you were so hot and desperately tight for me that you came without a hand around your 'golden cock' but that the feel of _my come_ inside of you, dripping down your cheeks and wetting your thighs was what restored your mind and made your body come alive?"

Merlin paused for dramatic effect before climbing into Arthur's lap. If Arthur thought wanking was more productive than fairytales, then Merlin was going to in on the action.

Only after one roll of his hips, Arthur came with a choked little, 'Merlin', splashing between them.

"I can't believe you came before me," Merlin squawked, still hard against Arthur's belly. "Just for that, I'm making the knights dwarves and saying it was your idea, Princess."

Arthur's resulting laugh was something no fairytale-ending could ever do justice.

* * *

**38.**

Myth/Legend Used: [The Princess and the Pea](http://www.eastoftheweb.com/short-stories/UBooks/PriPea.shtml) by Hans Christian Andersen

There once was a princess who knew she didn't want to marry a prince, but she hadn't exactly had good luck with the ladies either. The Lady Morgana had been in love with her maidservant for some years before she realised that said maidservant was trying to decide whether she preferred Morgana's idiot brother Arthur or some other dashing warrior type who adored her.

The next object of Morgana's affections was a dashing warrior type herself, a blond bombshell who showed Arthur up in front of the whole court, practised magic fearlessly, cured the nightmares that had been plaguing Morgana since puberty, and turned out to be her sister. Because that was just Morgana's luck.

Well, who needed maidservants and mysterious witches anyway? Morgana would marry a woman who shared her own taste for smooth satin, a good night's sleep, and the look of a woman's breasts in an elegant gown. She would marry a princess and get the hell out of Camelot.

The Lady Vivian was certainly beautiful, but she truly captured Morgana's heart when she called her accommodations "adequate". Morgana waited for Gwen to finish making up Vivian's bed with two fine mattresses and a dozen eiderdown quilts before she snuck into the room.

(Slightly cleverer, Morgana realised as she hefted up the mattresses to deposit the enchanted pea that Morgause had given her, would have been to do this _before_ Gwen made the bed.)

In the morning Morgana, who was getting rather good at lurking in corridors lately, listened to Arthur and Gwen whisper sappy endearments at each other until Vivian burst out of her chamber. "Quiet that racket, you two! It's not enough that you put some hard pokey thing in my bed that kept me tossing and turning all night. Must you stand outside my door jabbering as well? Really, Arthur, the girl's a menace. You must have her sacked at once."

Arthur puffed out his chest as he wrapped a protective arm around Gwen, but before he could say anything Morgana stepped out of her hiding place and said, "Did I hear you had trouble sleeping last night?" Vivian pouted as she nodded. "Well, we can't have that, not for our guest of honour! Nobody knows more about sleepless nights than me. Come along, dear, I've got a bracelet you should try on." Morgana put her arms around the tiny princess and led her away while Arthur and Gwen stared after them in silence.

"Take me with you to your castle," Morgana said once they'd reached her own chamber, "and no one will ever try to prick at you in bed again."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," Vivian said guardedly.

"I mean," said Morgana, reaching out to stroke Vivian's cheek, "that my hands are very gentle." Morgana leaned forward, and Vivian didn't draw away as she murmured, "And my lips are very soft," against Vivian's soft, wet, open mouth.

Vivian giggled, wrapped her arms around Morgana's neck and said, "Will your mouth feel that good when you're kissing my cunt?"

And even Morgana, who considered herself something of a woman of the world after the incident with the magical half-sister, had to stop, catch her breath, and then laugh before she promised, "Even better, my lady. Even better."

Uther had begun to despair of ever finding a match Morgana would consent to, while Olaf was so jealous he _hoped_ never to find a man to marry Vivian. Much like Vivian herself, though, he failed to perceive the Lady Morgana as any kind of threat. The two kings were only too happy to see the princesses wed, and in time Vivian would become queen, with Morgana as her magician and consort.

Neither of them ever cared for pokey things in bed, although with time Morgana learned to savour the sharpness of Vivian's nails scoring her back and the tug of Vivian's fingers at her hair. Vivian, for her part, came to appreciate the hard weight of Morgana's hands and hips on top of her, and even the metal toys that throbbed with Morgana's magic against her most secret and sensitive skin.

But mostly they used their mouths, kissed and licked and sucked each other sore, until they were wet with tears and come, and then whispered to each other over and over, "You are perfect. I am so glad I've found you."

The two women lived happily ever after and, when they weren't busy fucking, always slept soundly through the night.

* * *

**39.**

Myth/Legend Used: [Gilgamesh](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gilgamesh)

 

Arthur, king of Albion, was regarded by many to be a child of the gods. He was well-formed and beautiful to behold, and there was none stronger than he. He was formidable, both as man and king.

Yet for all that he was mighty he was also wild. Often was he found to be engaged in making sport of wrestling those weaker than him, and of taking the daughters of Albion as his own as frequently as he chose.

As one the people of Albion did beg the gods to find a way of soothing their king’s hot-bloodedness and in answer to their prayers did Lord Kilgharrah fashion a man, a counterpart to the King of Albion, so that he might bring peace to the restless king.

And so one day the Witch-Priestess Morgana did lead into Albion a man of well-formed limbs and wide, guileless eyes and, taking him to the king, did present to him this innocent creature. 

‘Here is Merlin that was Myrddin, he who haunted the woods as a wild thing till we did tame him. He is your other half, O King!’ said she. ‘He is your counterpart, whom the Lord Kilgharrah saw fit to make as your companion.’

And Arthur looked upon the other and his heart felt full, as if for the first time it was whole.

But Merlin was not satisfied.

‘Thy strength is as a weakling child’s and thine actions are unworthy of kings,’ he said scornfully. ‘You torment your men and you take the women as your own. I do not acknowledge you as my king.’ And with that Merlin did turn his back on Arthur.

Arthur, enraged at the slight, strode forward and seized Merlin by the arm.

‘You doubt my strength?’ he questioned.

‘I do,’ said Merlin.

‘You doubt my claim as King?’ 

‘I do,’ said Merlin.

‘Then, that I should show you my might, I challenge thee!’ declared Arthur.

And so they each seized the other in mighty grips, one with the strength of a boar and the other with the cunning of a fox. And as they wrestled their naked bodies did come into contact and each touch to the other was as burning yet still they did not stop. Their mighty chests did press against the other’s and their loins clashed together in sinuous twists, even as they did fight.

But as they wrestled together a change did occur and Merlin looked at Arthur with eyes anew, for the King’s skin gleamed with sweat and his eyes sparkled with determination.

‘Behold!’ an inner voice cried. ‘Here is the best and most beautiful of men!’

With that, Arthur seized Merlin and pushed him to the ground, triumphant.

‘Do you yield?’ said he.

‘I do yield,’ Merlin said, lowering his head. Then, raising his voice he did declare, ‘Behold! Here is Arthur, lord of Albion, and king of kings!’

Then did Arthur remove his body from Merlin’s and bade him rise. When both stood, Arthur did embrace Merlin as a man embraces his wife, and he was filled with joy for never before had he felt so full of peace and contentment as he did in that moment.

‘Come,’ he said gently, taking Merlin by the arm. ‘Let us cement this friendship with ties more binding.’

‘I wish for nothing more,’ said Merlin, bowing his head low.

And so did Arthur take Merlin into the temple wherein the priestesses did lay with men and, sending away all but he, did then lay down with Merlin and proceeded to worship his body by the altar of the Lord Kilgharrah.

‘Thou art my truest love,’ Arthur smiled down at Merlin even as he thrust inside him mightily. ‘My heart belongs to thee.’

‘And mine to you,’ Merlin did reply, his eyes full of worship and pleasure. ‘You are mine and I am yours, O King!’

‘Now I am whole,’ Arthur did pronounce, pushing into the other and taking his pleasure. ‘For you were made for me by Lord Kilgharrah himself so that you might bring peace to my heart and to the land of Albion.’

‘And together we shall make Albion mightier still,’ Merlin smiled, clasping Arthur’s hand even as his body did clasp Arthur’s. 

‘As you say,’ said the king of Albion, before leaning down and pressing his lips to his Merlin’s.

And, in his completion in the other, did the King bind the fate of the land of Albion within them both, for better or for worse.

* * *

**40.**

**Myth/Legend used:** [Boots Who Ate a Match With the Troll](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boots_Who_Ate_a_Match_With_the_Troll) and a tiny element from [Hansel and Gretel](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hansel_and_Gretel). 

It started, as it always did, with a badly timed spell from some mediocre magic user who was desperate to prove their power to the kingdom at large. It ended, as it never usually did, with Merlin getting his brains fucked out with his face pushing into Arthur’s extremely fluffy pillows. 

And somewhere in between there was a story, but Merlin would be damned if he could remember a single thing as Arthur’s hand gripped his shoulder, holding him in place as he pushed Merlin back into every drag of his cock, hitting a place inside Merlin that he didn’t even know he had. 

Merlin thought breathing was rather overrated anyway. 

Oh! Yes, there _had_ been an incident where Leon turned into a magnificently huge troll – one that Merlin certainly had never seen the likes of. It was absurdly large with wild, black hair and between the round eyes as large as saucers there was a nose so long that Merlin was morbidly fascinated, really. 

The troll (or Leon, if one prefers) had asked Merlin to have a porridge eating contest, which Merlin just found an oddly arbitrary choice for a contest to test their worth. Not to mention unfair since Merlin was rather on the thin side, and even if he did eat a lot more than one would think, he certainly couldn’t out-eat a giant troll (even if it was Leon). So, obviously, he cheated with magic – not because Merlin liked cheating, just because it was necessary. 

Gaius had been no help in trying to turn Leon back to his original state of non-trolldom. He’d just muttered a lot under his breath and fumbled hastily with vials of those herbs Merlin could never keep straight. So Merlin had sought out Kilgharrah instead, because frankly, he never seemed to learn that this was never a fruitful venture. 

Kilgharrah had looked at him and Merlin always found it very difficult to read expressions on his face, because really, dragons seemed oddly expressionless or at least they didn’t express emotions in a way Merlin could make sense of. 

“Maybe what he needs is True Love’s kiss,” Kilgharrah had said, making an odd snorting sound. 

And, well, Merlin didn’t really think he was Leon’s true love or Leon’s… _any_ love, but maybe the spell wasn’t that intelligent and wouldn’t know the difference between a True Love’s kiss and any old kiss if it hit it in the face. 

So Merlin had gone looking for the troll and found it inhabiting a gingerbread house, balancing its huge form on a tiny gingerbread chair. Which seemed to be a really odd choice, but at this point Merlin was beyond questioning anything that these ridiculous sorcerers threw in his path. And so he had gingerly (heh) stepped across the gingerbread floorboards that snapped in half under his feet and pressed a kiss to what he was largely guessing was the troll’s mouth. 

Disappointingly, nothing had happened. Well, that was technically untrue, because the troll had stared at him and then flailed its hands in a very untroll-like manner. Then Gaius had come running in with a flask in his hand and Merlin had been immensely relieved that Leon would finally be released from his spell. 

But Gaius had gripped _Merlin_ by the hair and forced the liquid down his throat while Merlin’s eyes watered. And… _oh_. Oh. Everything had dissolved in front of his eyes, the gingerbread crumbling away and becoming hay, and Leon became Leon. But then again, it did seem like Leon had been Leon all along. He did have that dumb troll look about him at the time, though: the ‘I don’t understand anything’-look. 

Somewhere, Kilgharrah had laughed.

And that had been the end of that. Except it really hadn’t, because Arthur had seen the whole thing and came flouncing down the steps from the castle, dragging Merlin away while hissing things about _kissing_ and _Leon being dead_. Merlin hadn’t understood anything as Arthur had forcefully dragged him into his room, but then he saw Arthur’s face and human faces were a lot easier to read than a dragon’s. 

Oh. 

So he’d kissed Arthur instead and here they were, Merlin keening into the sheets as Arthur held his hips possessively in a grip that was on the verge of hurting a little. Merlin didn’t mind one bit, actually, because he was pretty sure these stories were supposed to have happily ever afters and nothing was happier than Arthur’s fingers on him.

* * *

**41.**

[Kitsune](http://www.coyotes.org/kitsune/)

There once was a trickster or a mischief maker, old of mind and young of spirit, who travelled all the lands and all the seas in many shapes. None knew his true name but all spoke of his golden eyes and the magic he wielded. 

One day whilst travelling in his true form he was spared during a great hunt. His saviour, golden of hair and strong of body, looking for a challenge the Tricksters travel weary body could not provide. So, feeling indebted to the unwitting man, the trickster took him as his Master, vowing to protect him from all harm.

And so, in his human shape, hair darker than ink and eyes bluer than sky, the trickster became a servant, still causing mischief by freeing worthy prisoners and stealing his Masters keys, but also protecting him against many foes.

Then one day the Trickster fell. Not from any height, or because of his Masters boots, although they always seemed placed to trip him. Instead he tumbled freely and devotedly into the unknown passionate embrace of love, the greatest and most terrifying adventure of all.

Yet his love did not see him for his true self.

And so, slowly, the Trickster earned his Masters heart, thawing the ice that froze him in a perfect image of disgruntled nobility. First becoming friend, then lover.

***

_“Really Merlin, I thought you’d be good at this at least. Faster, damn you!”_

_Slick bodies twined together as they writhed in pleasure, thrusting against each other as their pleasure peaked.  
“Be quiet sire, I know exactly what I’m doing.”_

***

“I would write our love in the stars so all would know it,” the Trickster would say, while the Master lovingly traced his features.

“What are you Merlin?” he would ask, and still his love would only smile. This one secret kept between them. 

And yet the Master grew jealous of his Love, and the secret that was denied him, craving his servants’ heart and the knowledge bound to it; not yet understanding that all the servant had was his to command. So the Master plotted, silently following his pray until his true form was revealed and a great fox with nine tails and golden eyes was before him.

And the Servant noticed his Master and wept, for all those who loved his kind could never see their true form lest disaster be wrought in their lives, so he left in despair, no hope in his heart of seeing his love again.

***

The Master sought answers from a Wiseman and left with the word Kitsune strange upon his tongue, yet a prayer on his lips, determined to search for his love.

***

_“Please Giaus, I need your help!”_

_“I wish I could sire but I don’t know where Merlin is.”_

***

So the Master searched and the seasons changed, pale autumn drowned beneath bitter snow. The Old King passing silently into deaths hall with the last haunting remnants of the red oak leaves. The Master crowned the next good king of the realm. And still he searched. 

***

Then one day a huntsman appeared carrying the body of a nine tailed fox, limp in eternal sleep, eyes void of golden magic. 

“Did thou slay? DID THOU SLAY HIM?” despaired the Good King, cradling the fox to his chest, perhaps believing that it was a final trick and that once more his servant would be returned to him.

“Nay, Nay!” cried the Huntsman. “It was not I, It was not I!”

The Huntsman trembled beneath the Masters gaze.

“There is a story,” rushed the Huntsman, “passed down through my ancestors, of a great magic fox who roamed the forest. It is said that he was a trickster, yet not a malicious one, and that he held great magic in his hands, for he often changed shape from fox to boy to man. None had seen him in our forest for many a year until he was discovered wandering ill and alone this passing winter. Our healing woman cared for him and nourished him but no sickness or wound could be found. Eventually she believed that he no longer wanted to live and that his malady was that of a broken heart.”

The Good King, distraught beyond measure, sat with his beloved all through the day until night broke and the stars shone upon him. And then looking up from his vigil the master noted a new star in the sky, and knew his lover was watching.

***

And so the Master, filled with grief, closed his heart to all others, though many tried to seize it as their own; in time becoming known as a great warrior and eternal king, until one night, when time had run due course and death marked his face. The Master looked out upon the stars in sweet happiness, for he knew that he would soon be with his lover again, and together they would shine down upon the kingdom, the Once and Future King and his Servant. Thus he went easily to deaths calm embrace none but one word upon his lips.

***

_“Merlin.”_

* * *

**42.**

[ Bloody Mary](http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bloody_Mary_\(folklore\))

"This is bloody ridiculous. Bugger Gwaine, what is he, a thirteen year old girl?" Merlin grumbles to himself as he takes the stairs two at a time. 

This is what happens when those prats he calls friends crack into Percy's father's liquor cabinet. He finds his way into the bathroom and flicks on the switch.

"No lights!" Gwaine calls from the bottom of the stairs and Merlin curses his aggravating Irish arse before turning them off.

He stands in front of the mirror. Slivers of moonlight frame his face, creating shadows in his reflection. 

"This is so stupid," Merlin takes a cautious look around. Dare. Why the fuck had he said dare?

With a heavy sigh he turns back to the mirror and focuses on the darkening blue of his irises.

"Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary."

The words leave his lips in a gush of breath, barely loud enough to hit his own ears. He feels like a foolish teenager, spooked by an urban myth that serves as childish fodder for giggly schoolgirls at sleepovers. 

A long drawn out creak slices through the air and it's crazy but the palms of his hands dampen and an involuntary shiver skates down his spine.

"Pull yourself together," Merlin tells himself, stepping back and colliding straight into a firm chest. The sound he makes is embarrassingly high pitched. Arthur's laughter rings in his ears, making him flush scarlet.

"You prat!" 

"Scared the mean old witch is going to get you?" 

Merlin spins on his heel and makes to push past him. "Fuck off." 

"Come on," Arthur wraps an arm around Merlin's waist, runs blunt nails where his t-shirt rides up. Goose-bumps prickle over his skin and though he's loathed to give into it Merlin allows his treacherous body to press closer. 

"Come to be my knight in shining armour?" Merlin asks against Arthur's shoulder. The fingers at the base of his spine continue to stroke back and forth, daring to dip lower but never quite far enough. The infuriating tease. 

"Did you see your future husband?" Arthur responds, teeth nipping at the sensitive shell of Merlin's ear. Each graze on his lobe has his hips jolt forward, rubbing against the heat of Arthur's thigh. 

"I'm not some Victorian damsel you know."

"No," Arthur's lips move to suck bruising kisses along his jaw. "You just blush like one."

Merlin smacks a hand against his chest but Arthur grabs and holds it there; uses the movement to spin them both until the bathroom door is slammed shut and Merlin's back is pressed against it.

"So?"

It takes Merlin a few seconds for his brain to catch up with the conversation because Arthur's tongue is doing something amazing to the dip of his collarbone and his cock is very much interested in that continuing and perhaps moving lower. 

"The only face I saw was your annoying one." Merlin manages to stutter out in reply. A gasp catches in the back of his throat as Arthur's fingers finally slip beneath the band of his jeans and run along the crease of his arse. 

Merlin swears he can hear Arthur murmur 'good' before the crown of his blonde head drops down and sharp teeth nip at the tender flesh over his hipbone. 

Arthur's tongue swirls around the dusting of dark hair above his parted zipper and his jeans start to strain at the thought of Arthur's experienced mouth working itself over his cock. 

Then soon he's not imagining it - it's happening. One of Arthur's hands massages the pucker of his hole whilst the other makes quick work of ridding him of his underwear. Before Merlin can even wiggle them past his knees Arthur's mouth is on him. Insistent and all consuming. 

This is where Arthur shows his emotions. Where he can claim Merlin as his own and mark his territory. It's typical of an arrogant sod like Arthur that this is his way of saying 'I need you,' but Merlin can hardly concentrate on that right now, not when Arthur is tonguing at his slit, fist sliding fast and dry.

"Possessive bastard," Merlin groans. When he looks down Arthur's staring back at him with hungry eyes that scream 'mine'. 

Somehow they both manage to miss the flicker of a shadow passing across the mirror. A shimmer of light that could almost be the glint of a smile reflected in the glass as Merlin tightens his fingers in Arthur's hair and comes with a strangled cry.


	3. Part C (with links and warnings)

**43.**

Lilith  
warning: reverse chronology

She came like she was the only person who had ever come in the history of the world, and the only person that ever truly would. Her cunt squeezed at him, pulled at his cock until he believed it, too, until he _believed_ and he would _witness_ , and he would be one of her children forever.

*

“Mama,” he murmured desperately into her breasts, sucking a bruise into the underside of one. He felt fiercely possessive, fiercely hers, and so ready for her to envelop him. For her to keep him from flying apart. “Please…”

She took pity on him, or maybe on herself, and rose above his body. “My name,” she said finally, as she sank down onto his cock, “is Lilith.”

*

Her nails dragged through his hair, and he pulled away, letting her be caught by the aftershocks of her orgasm alone. He knew he needed to get on with it, and fuck how he wanted to, but he’d got her talking, and he always wanted stories out of people. Human being stories, a friend of his had once called them. The true essence, whether it be factual or not.

“Did you hate him?” he asked, lips against the rough hair guarding her cunt, the air expelled by his words making her body contract one last time.

“I could’ve been mother to them all.” Then she pulled and pushed and they were rolling, and she was on top of him, her body warm and heavy and wet. “I very nearly killed him.”

*

“Where’d the father go?” he asked, greedy, as he mouthed at her collarbone, lapped at her armpit, pushed his nose into the rough stubble there. 

She stretched languorously and he felt it all along his body while he moved. “I slept with his brother.”

The skin of her stomach smelled like honey. “So he left you?”

“So to speak. Wouldn’t you?”

He grunted his assent; he was lying. Her thighs pressed against his neck. Her cunt tasted of mangos.

He didn’t even like mangos.

*

She kissed like she was the last person that ever would kiss, soft and slow and hurtful like the end of the world. He cupped her breasts with his hands, unable to stop himself from dropping awkwardly to taste them. She cried out when he used teeth, and the fingers he dipped into her folds came away soaked.

They stumbled into a door, and as he reached to open it she clapped her hand over his mouth. “Not in there,” she whispered, her breath hot and dry in his nose. He saw a picture on the door, a child’s scrawl. “Anywhere but there.”

*

She let him into her flat carelessly, gracelessly. Flung away her shirt and left the front door unlocked. “You can fuck me, but you have to eat me out first.” She ran a finger across his lips. “I’d so very much like that.”

*

“Come home with me,” he said, and he ignored the queens’ catcalls, ignored everything but her answer.

She laughed, but it was delighted, not hurtful. “Oh, love, no.”

He clawed at the light, took her hand in his. “Take me to your place, then.”

She searched his eyes, and he found things he’d never known he’d locked up.

“All right. For tonight.”

*

He’ll always swear he was drunk when he met her. 

“Mama!” the drag queen bellowed sharply across the room. “Mama, you have to meet this one!” She turned back to him, stepping so close her silver lashes brushed his cheek. He wondered for a moment what they’d feel like on his cock. “He is _delicious_.”

Despite it all, he found himself blushing.

Then, when he saw _her_ , he forgot what it even meant to blush. She was small, and her eyes shone, and every single person in the room would’ve died for her in an instant.

The silver queen looped her sparkling boa around Mama’s waist and dragged her to them; she laughed throatily and he was so in love it hurt to breathe.

“Why, hello there,” she said to him softly. “You _are_ delicious.”

“Thank you,” he said. There was no stammer at all. She was perfect, and she made everyone else perfect, too. “My name is Will.”

“Nice to meet you, Will,” she answered. Her smile was words enough for centuries. “My name is Hunith. But you can call me Mama.”

* * *

**44.**

Warnings: underage, seduction of a minor under the influence of alcohol.

Myth/Legend Used: [Reynardine](http://www.information-britain.co.uk/loredetail.php?id=85)  
You can hear the Fairport Convention version of the ballad here

**Reynardine**

 

The dark figure of a man slips out from behind a tree and blocks Will’s path. It’s too dark for Will to make out the stranger’s features as he speaks, his voice deep and husky.

“It’s late for you to be out alone, boy.” 

“I’m not a boy,” Will bristles. “I’m fine, I know these woods.

“There are things in the forest at night that are best avoided.” The man steps closer. Will’s senses are on alert, telling him that maybe this man is one of those things. But then he smiles, teeth glinting in the twilight. “I live close by. I can put you up for the night and offer you a meal. Unless of course your mother will be worrying...”

Will squares his shoulders. “She knows I can take care of myself.”

~R~

“You live here?” Will fails to hide his disbelief.

The walls are mostly ivy covered, but even so... Will can’t believe that he didn’t know this ancient-looking building was here. He thought he knew every inch of the forest around his home. He feels a chill of unease.

The man, Gwaine, as Will now knows him, laughs. “It’s a roof over my head -- and yours tonight.” He claps Will on the shoulder and his hand is warm through the thin fabric as it lingers there.

Some furs by the fireplace and a low table are the only home comforts, but it’s warm and dry. Gwaine offers Will cold meat and bread with red wine to wash it down. He refills Will’s cup when it’s empty and Will enjoys the rich, dark taste. 

He studies Gwaine in the flickering light from the fire. His face is long and vulpine, his eyes dark, and his mane of hair is deep reddish-brown. Gwaine grins knowingly at Will and his teeth flash, sharp and white, and Will realises he’s staring. He feels a jolt of heat in his belly, and his face flames as he gulps at his wine again.

Will is drifting, distanced from reality as the wine dulls his senses. He lies back on the furs and stares at the ceiling as the room swirls around him. He hears Gwaine’s chuckle, and then a dark shape looms over him and a rough hand touches his cheek.

“Alright there, boy?” 

“I’m not a boy,” Will smiles hazily and reaches up to run his fingers through Gwaine’s hair, tangling them in the thick strands as Gwaine’s face gets closer. Their lips meld in a kiss that tastes of wine and wanting and Will arches into Gwaine’s touch. 

Gwaine strips them both bare. He crawls over Will’s pliant body, kissing and licking and breathing in every inch of him. When he nuzzles into the hair at Will’s groin and licks at his prick, Will cries out and pushes into the heat of Gwaine’s mouth, desperate for more. His thighs are spread apart by strong hands and oil-slick fingers tease him open. The sharp stretch and sting is nothing compared to the wonder of Gwaine’s mouth on his cock, and Will whimpers when Gwaine pulls off, his lips wet and shining in the firelight. 

“You beautiful boy,” he murmurs, moving up Will’s body. Will feels the hot slide of Gwaine’s cock up his thigh until it’s pressing against his hole. “So ready for this.”

He pushes in smoothly with one long thrust, making Will gasp. It’s too much and his fingers dig into Gwaine’s hips. Gwaine lowers his head to kiss Will again, lips soft and gentle as he rocks carefully into him. With each movement the pain is less and the pleasure builds, and soon Will is spilling, hot and wet between them. Gwaine follows with a harsh cry as he empties himself into Will with his last few thrusts. 

Will is boneless, sated; already half asleep as Gwaine pulls out and curls around him, holding him close.

~R~

Will stirs.

He’s naked but covered by a warm fur. He sits up, taking in the clearing where he lies, the remains of a fire beside him and his clothes in a neat pile. But he’s outdoors, and alone. He frowns, confused, head full of disjointed dream-memories. As he moves to pull on his breeches he feels slickness between his thighs and a pleasant ache of muscles rarely used. 

A rustle in the bushes nearby makes Will turn his head, and he just catches the flash of white teeth and a dark red coat as a fox disappears into the undergrowth.

* * *

**45.**

Warnings: non-con, major character death

[Bluebeard](http://childhoodreading.com/?p=20)

Nothing beats waking up with the sun in his face. Arthur's away on business but Merlin still feels sore enough from the see-you-again-soon fuck to remember him well enough. They fucked an hour before Arthur left, against the balcony doors with the flat lit and all of London watching.

 _you should see this place,_ Merlin texts Gwaine, then tosses his phone on the bed, rolls over and buries his face in the pillow again.

"There's something about you," Artur said when they first met in town, standing outside a pub, Merlin with a beer in hand and Arthur charming in his suit and the sun catching in his hair.

Merlin's phone vibrates with a reply. _Tosser_. Merlin grins at the phone as he rolls out of bed and pads into the kitchen, makes some coffee and some porridge for himself. Bare-arsed he jumps up on the counter and eats as he looks around the empty flat.

Nothing's out of place. Everything neat and tidied away and sorted. Merlin slides off the counter and takes his coffee round the flat, has a poke at some of the photos (his father, his mother, his half-sister in a black frame), pulls a few drawers open, then wanders down the corridor towards the back of the flat.

"Just a few spare rooms," Arthur said during the brief tour. "I'd prefer you staying out." Then they fucked in the kitchen amidst the chopped onions and green peppers for Arthur's roast.

Still naked, a bit bored and whole lot more curious, Merlin takes his coffee past the first few doors: closet, spare bedroom, office space, in that order, and Merlin's not much interested in Arthur's finances. 

The last door is locked though. Merlin sips from his cup and glances back towards the main part of the flat, then back at the door in front of him and tries the handle again. Still locked. 

"Someone's keeping secrets," Merlin whispers under his breath, studies the lock, and he shouldn't do this because there are laws and there's privacy and Gaius will kill him if he ever gets caught. It only takes a moment though, and the door moves to open as he presses down on the handle. "Should keep your doors locked, Arthur," Merlin says, grinning, and pokes his head inside.

The room is dark, no windows. Merlin feels for a lightswitch next to the door but can't find one, so just pushes the door open further for the sunlight from the corridor to spill inside. The light creeps across the floor, pure black turning into dark grey, then lighter grey.

Then the stench hits, and Merlin's on his knees on the floor, retching his stomach out as his coffee cup shatters next to him, splashing coffee over himself and the floor and--

Merlin looks up, on hands and knees with bile forcing its way up his throat, mind whirring. He looks from one end of the room to the next as his eyes adapt to the semi-darkness, his own shadow spilling out grotesque in front of him. Arthur's half-sister is on the very right, he recognises her from the photo, face perfectly preserved even as her body is cut up beyond all imagination; a girl next to her, blond and pretty; next to her a boy, hardly even sixteen with dark hair and wide eyes, eyeballs only with the lids cut away.

"I told you not to go looking down here," Arthur's voice comes from behind him, and his shadow covers all of Merlin's, all of the spilled coffee.

"No," Merlin turns around, scrambling, not quite sure what is happening, only knowing that this can't--

"I knew there was something about you. Not everyone can open this door," Arthur says and steps in closer and closer, too fast for Merlin to scramble away, and grabs Merlin's hip and pulls him in, kisses him, grabs at his cock and jerks him roughly. "You were feeding it all to me as we were fucking, with every bit of come, every kiss, weren't you? Trying to poison me with it? Witchcraft."

"No, nononono," Merlin tries to say, barely gets out the sounds as Arthur pushes him back and Merlin's legs up and thrusts his cock into Merlin's arse dry. _Someone, please someone_ , Merlin thinks, and his phone rings in Arthur's bed over the harsh sounds of Arthur's breath, Arthur's fingers on Merlin's neck and Arthur's wild, crazy face as he keeps thrusting. 

Merlin's phone rings, and no one answers.

* * *

**46.**

Warnings: Use of a lust potion. 

Myth/Legend Used: [The Wolf and the Seven Young Kids](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Wolf_and_the_Seven_Young_Kids)

Once upon a time, in a castle far, far away, there lived a king and his six knights. (Well, technically, the castle was just a hop, skip and jump away from current England, but those armours made hopping, skipping and jumping rather tricky, so it would have seemed far away, anyway. Also, the six knights were really more like four knights and a ghost, and some guy nobody knew who loomed impressively and always dressed in black, but hey, he’d yet to lose a single fight, so loom on, Arthur liked to say. )

But anyway, these seven guys lived together more or less harmoniously, until one day, there was a knock on the castle door. (The previous king had some sort of mental breakdown that caused him to flame random persons he didn’t like. After that, people just weren’t that into visiting the castle.) 

Arthur, being a wise king, heeded his father’s warnings about strangers knocking on doors, and didn’t just open it.

“Who’s there?” he called out. “Are you a big bad sorcerer?” 

“Er,” said the voice on the other side, “No?”

“He seems to be on the scrawny side, sire,” said Lancelot, who never needed to knock on doors because he could just walk through them.

“Hmph,” said Arthur, and opened the door just a little. The stranger gave him an innocent-looking smile. 

“ _Hmph_ ,” said Arthur. 

“Hi!” said the stranger, adding an innocent-looking grin to his repertoire. “Apple?”

“What do you want?”

“Uh, I’m offering you apples?” he said, deflating a little. “Or, well, selling them. I sell apples. It’s what I do. It’s a thing, you see. Some of us have to work so as not to starve.”

“…”

“… Er, My Lord.” 

As destiny would have it, just as Arthur was about to come up with a brilliant retort (of mythical proportions, one might say; mythical being the operative word), Gwaine walked into the room. Apples were Gwaine’s favourite.

In less than a fraction of a candle, the stranger was sitting at the table, and becoming much less of a stranger as they all munched on apples – albeit reluctantly, in Arthur’s case. He was regretting the whole round table thing; but he’d been outvoted, and fair was fair. Also, Gwaine would nag at him forever (give or take) if he didn’t give in.

“… and that’s why this whole no magic thing is just a load of bollocks,” Merlin said.

“How dare you,” Arthur said and got up. Well, part of him got up. As these things go, it was rather inconvenient. He’d probably been focusing on Merlin’s lush, traitorous lips a little too much. He snapped himself out of it and focused on the rest of Merlin’s traitorous body.

“Huh,” said Percival, and pointed at his own lap. 

Then they all got up (all of them, this time. Well, all of all of them) and looked at each other’s laps.

“Huh,” said Merlin, frowning and examining one of the apples. “It was just supposed to make you more amenable to suggestion.”

“… _What?_ ” said Arthur, desperately trying to ignore his rebelling crotch. “Sorcerer!”

“Oh, well!” said Merlin and threw the apple over his shoulder before grabbing Gwaine’s shirt and dragging him over the table for a snog. 

Arthur would like to say Gwaine put up a manly fight. He supposed it could be called a fight if you squinted and looked at it sideways in the reflection of a sword. Well, Gwaine definitely jumped Merlin. And kept Merlin from chanting any spells – with his cock.

Merlin definitely had a very enchanting mouth; a very greedy, enchanting mouth. Gwaine’s cock couldn’t be working right – the sounds Merlin was making wove their way into Arthur’s blood like a spell; the flush on his cheeks was mesmerising. 

“Oh, God,” said Arthur. Percival moaned. Leon stared. Lancelot hovered in an aroused sort of way. Tristan loomed. Elyan lazily spread his legs and cupped the back of Merlin’s head. 

Merlin swallowed them down one by one (even Lancelot. Arthur didn’t ask how), until it was Arthur’s turn. 

“No,” said Arthur. “You’re a sorcerer.”

“Uh, so?” said Merlin. Arthur couldn’t argue with that logic. Arthur’s laces somehow came undone. He wasn’t entirely sure it was due to magic. Merlin’s tongue was definitely magic, and the pleasure that burst through him had to be, too. 

His father was wrong: magic was brilliant, he thought, and both he and Merlin got their happy ending.

And they lived happily ever after. (Well, they had a lot of fun for a while, anyway.)

* * *

**47.**

Myth/Legend Used: [ The Journey of Ra](http://www.crystalinks.com/ra.html)

Arthur found the river only a few years after he’d arrived, which in Underworld terms was practically nothing. He sat by the river with his chin on his knees, watching the water and wondering if he would ever get to go back. Nothing ever happened in this place, and he missed the action of Camelot.

The boat came of something as a surprise to him. It came down the river slowly, nearly blinding him with its bright cargo. Behind the glowing ball of light sat a man… or something like a man, anyway, with the head of a falcon that turned to watch him as it passed.

Arthur wasn’t really sure what to think about it, but as he watched the bird go past he felt like there was something familiar about it.

***

The boat passed by every night, and every night the bird would turn to watch him. After a few nights, much to Arthur’s surprise, it spoke. “What is your name?”

“Arthur,” he replied, startled. “And yours?”

“Ra,” the bird replied, and then, almost shyly, “But you can call me Merlin.”

And then the boat was gone.

***

“Why do you do this?” Arthur asked, walking alongside the slow moving boat. He was fairly sure that it was being moved with magic, but considering he was in the Underworld and dead, he figured he could look past that.

“Not like I have much choice,” Merlin snorted. “I’m the god of the sun. It’s kind of what I do. I have to take the sun to be put back in the sky.”

“Doesn’t that get boring?”

Merlin shrugged. “Not lately.” Then he looked away, embarrassed.

***

One day, Arthur didn’t recognize the man in the boat. It was no longer the falcon-headed god, but a young, pale boy with sparking, kohl-rimmed blue eyes. He was gorgeous, and Arthur’s heart skipped a beat even as he asked, “Where’s Merlin?”

“Oh, it’s still me!” Merlin grinned. “I thought you might like this form better.” He looked up from under his dark eyelashes. “Do you?”

Arthur felt tight all over. “Uh… yeah. Yeah, I do.”

***

“Can I come with you?”

Merlin looked surprised, but after a minute said, “I don’t see why not. Come on in.”

Arthur climbed into the boat. It wobbled a little under the extra weight, but settled quickly.

It was small enough that their knees were knocking together as they continued the trip. Merlin was strangely quiet, but after a moment he reached out and took Arthur’s hand in his. “I’m glad you asked to come,” he said. “It’s gotten quite lonely, doing this every night by myself.”

He looked so earnest that Arthur couldn’t help but lean forward and place a gentle kiss on those bowed lips. “Well, I’m here now.”

***

Arthur wasn’t allowed to leave the Underworld, but he would wait at the mouth of the river every night and make the journey with Merlin. Sometimes they would even have to fight monsters away from the sun on the way, including a giant snake that slightly reminded Arthur of Morgana.

One day, just as they had defeated the serpent yet again, Merlin suddenly turned to Arthur and pushed him down into the bottom of the boat. Arthur wasn’t surprised – this had been a long time coming. Laughing with leftover adrenaline, he pushed down Arthur’s trousers, hiked up his own loincloth, and just began rutting them together.

The first touch of Merlin’s skin sent fizzles down Arthur’s spine, and in no time he was panting and writhing his way towards release, gripping at Merlin’s thin hips. It was an understatement to say it had been a while.

Merlin pressed against him, and the feeling of Merlin’s hard cock rubbing against his own was literally all it took to send Arthur spiraling off into climax. After, he just laid there and enjoyed the feeling of Merlin’s slick flesh and the look of pure pleasure crossing Merlin’s face as he brought himself to climax, making the boat rock with his final vicious thrust.

A splash and a succinct “shit” from Merlin brought Arthur back to his senses in a rush.

Arthur peered over the edge and watched the sun slowly sink into the water. “We’re going to have to get that back, aren’t we?”

“Uh, yeah.” Merlin was already pulling off the rest of his loincloth and getting ready to dive in. Arthur sighed and followed suit.

At least the Underworld wasn’t boring anymore.

* * *

**48.**

Myths used: Familiars  
Manticore

“You need more books.” 

“Er...who are you?” Merlin asked, almost dropping his tea. He looked at the blonde man currently inspecting his pitiful library.

“I’m a familiar. You can call me Arthur.”

“Sorry what?”

“Familiar? You know, supernatural entities that assist sorcerers in the practice of magic?” The man frowned at Merlin, looking him up and down. “You are Merlin the sorcerer, aren’t you?”

“Yes? I mean. Yes, I am. But I don’t know anything about a familiar?”

Merlin really needed to sit down. Gorgeous men did not appear in his living room on a regular basis, he really wasn’t sure what the script was. 

“So what - you’re here to be a butler?”

“Try ordering me to make you a cup of tea, see what happens,” Arthur said, menacingly. 

“So..why are you here, exactly?” Merlin then realised how it sounded. “I mean, not that I’m complaining, it’s just. You’ve never shown up before? And I’ve been doing magic a long time.”

Arthur shrugged. “Maybe you’ll need me soon.”

###

 

_...Residents claim that the recent rash of missing people is due to a creature that lives in the local woods. Investigators are said to be following several leads..._

“How’s your knowledge of magical creatures?” Arthur asked, after the news turned to the economy.

“It’s alright. I’ve got a couple of bestiaries. Wait, you think that creature’s real _and_ magical?”

“I think it’s something worth investigating.”

Merlin frowned at Arthur. “I suppose it can’t do any harm.”

“That’s the spirit.” Arthur said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll start packing.”

###

The residents of the village were both terrified and suspicious. It wasn’t until Merlin pulled out the paraphernalia he’d packed that they were willing to help them. 

He let the residents pore through his books until they settled on an image that fit the creature who’d been snatching people - a manticore. 

Merlin’s heart sank as he read the description; _The manticore is impervious to all but the most powerful charms._

###

 

Merlin stared at the powerful spell on the page. 

“Look, maybe we should call someone else. I’m really not sure – this is huge. There’s no way we can tackle this. I’ve never used my magic to kill a mouse never mind a manticore,” Merlin said, pushing his chair back. “This magic, it’s way beyond me.”

“We can’t give up now, we have to try and help these people,” Arthur said. “I’ve got faith in you. We can do this.”

“Alright. Ok. I’m going to need to practise.” 

###

 

“Argh!” Merlin flopped face-down on the bed, hands fisted in his hair. “This is ridiculous.”

“You’re getting there, come on.”

“You go on.” Merlin snapped childishly. He was sore and tired and nowhere near to getting the stupid charm to work.

“Let me help.” Arthur said, coming to sit next to him.

“I’m not sure what else you can do.” Merlin said, letting Arthur roll him over.

“Oh, really,” Arthur murmured, leaning down to kiss him.

“Arthur-”

“Be quiet, Merlin.” Arthur kissed him again. Merlin wrapped a hand around Arthur’s neck, pushing closer. 

Merlin writhed as Arthur’s hands slipped under his shirt, caressing him. Arthur slid a knee between his legs, and Merlin pressed up feeling his hardening cock drag against his boxers, making him shudder.

Arthur continued to tease. He sucked a bruise into Merlin’s neck and pinched at his nipples, all the while keeping up a steady friction against his erection.

“Come on, try now.” 

“Now?” Merlin asked, whining as Arthur pulled away. 

“I’ll blow you if you do it. Come on.” Arthur pulled Merlin up. Merlin glared at him, but raised a hand and incanted.

A wind whipped up, flinging books and papers around the room. All of Merlin’s hair stood on end and he gasped as his magic reared up in him, stronger than he’d ever felt. He stopped, reining it in, dizzy with it.

“I think that’s it.” He panted.

“Brilliant!” Arthur said, pulling him into a kiss. 

Merlin squirmed against him, hands cupping Arthur’s arse. 

“I believe you promised me a blow job.” 

“I did, didn’t I?” Arthur said, falling to his knees. 

He undid Merlin’s trousers and mouthed at Merlin’s erection, pulling it out of his boxers. Merlin gasped and cupped Arthur’s face.

“Not gonna last.” 

Arthur just hummed and took him deeper, swallowing around him. 

Merlin’s orgasm tore through him, heightened by his magic, he cried out, hoarse as he arched up, Arthur swallowed it all before pulling back. Merlin tugged him up and into a kiss, groaning as he tasted himself on Arthur’s tongue.

“Let’s go kill a monster.”

* * *

**49.**

[The Elves and the Shoemaker](http://www.authorama.com/grimms-fairy-tales-39.html)

===

Being an elf in the current age isn't easy.

Morris is perfectly content to slap together Crocs and flip-flops. George produces marvels of podiatric artistry like they did in the olden days, but they must always be affixed with the Nike logo, and are always boxed the same as factory-built rubbish.

People these days don’t appreciate elf-made shoes like they used to.

"Don't you have any pride in your work?" Merlin asks George. "Don't you think it deserves better?"

"I am but a humble shoemaking dwarf," George says, nose in the air. "I don't need others to recognize my perfection."

Gaius gives Merlin a disapproving eyebrow from the corner where he's stitching together a Nike swoop.

And so it goes, until the day Merlin packs his bag of tools and sets out, leaving the sneaker factory and setting out for the big city.

After a time of wandering, he happens upon a small workroom decorated in leather, with shoes on every wall. There are cherry red peeptoes and sinister stilettos, shoes worked like steel lace, boots that could crush a man's head like an egg underfoot. Each pair has Merlin itching with desire, but they all pale in comparison to the unfinished pair lying on the table—the room's centerpiece, dark and powerful with sex worked into every careful seam.

Merlin sees them, and can't help himself.

===

Morgana is a shoemaker (she prefers _designer_ ), and, in her spare time, a dominatrix. She thus appreciates the value of a good thigh-high boot.

And the boots currently sitting in the center of her workstation, embossed with black leather and laced suggestively all the way up, put _good_ to shame. They are magnificent, each utter works of art.

They were supposed to have been _Morgana’s_ works of art. She is offended even as she itches to slide them onto her feet and lace them up. She knows the leather is softer than butter.

“Elves,” she hisses, snatching up the boots.

Drastic times call for drastic measures.

===

The sight of the boots lying in the bin the following night draws a distraught moan from Merlin’s throat. The sight of the blue pumps on the table, however, draws a gasp. They ooze class, clearly stitched in a frenzy of shoemaking passion, and yet with immaculate precision.

They are also quite pointedly finished.

“So it’s a throwdown, hmm?” Merlin says. He rubs his hands together.

===

The shoes from the ensuing battle will later be collected into the le Fay _Elven_ line, and sell collectively for over a million pounds. Morgana will spend half the money in support of various charities and the rest on designer gowns and sex toys.

In the meantime, however, there is a war to win.

If Morgana were her brother, she would fight fairly and honourably. But because she is herself, and not Arthur (or stupid), she does what she has to.

She hides her favourite fabrics before the elf comes out at night, stowing away all her tools and crystals and even all her metal heel reinforcements. It all seems for naught, however—the fabrics are always gone from their hiding place in the morning; the elf seems to have his own set of tools; and without the materials to make a heel, the elf outdoes himself by presenting an absolutely luscious pair of flats. Morgana has to quickly try them on once before tossing them, cursing her weakness.

The next logical step is confrontation and possibly a catfight, clearly, only Morgana doesn’t expect—

“You’re naked!” she shrieks, when the elf materializes into the room in a not-nearly-opaque-enough cloud of smoke.

“You’re not supposed to be here!” the elf shrieks in return, skittering backward, and then tripping over Morgana’s tripwire.

It is a chance, so she quickly ties the elf’s wrists together as planned with a pair of shoelaces. Then she pauses.

“I thought elves were supposed to be tiny, and live in little holes or something,” she admits.

“Magic,” the elf says, as if she’s some sort of idiot. “Of course we’re the same size as you. How could we work staple guns or anything if we were tiny?”

“I don’t know,” she says acidly. “Magic?”

They stare at each other for a moment, assessing.

“Your... _shoes_... are really sexy,” the elf says, face pink.

“Want to fuck?” Morgana says. The elf is quite nice-looking all over, really, so there’s no reason not to be direct.

“Only if you wear the boots,” says the elf.

She does.

* * *

**50.**

[Four Horsemen](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Four_Horsemen_of_the_Apocalypse)

He felt the first seal snap like bone breaking. 

The air was charged; practically vibrating as the white horse came screaming out of exile. Merlin closed his eyes and imagined the way her black hair streaming behind her. _Conquest_ , Merlin knew her from the time before when she’d been Morgana. 

It was starting. Places to be, hell to spawn. 

Merlin was holding the baby destroyer of worlds (and he had the biggest blue eyes you could imagine on the Prince of Darkness, Merlin tickled under his chin and cooed and hoped that Mordred wouldn’t remember when he grew up and reduced the realm of mortal men to nothing). 

In the old tongue her name was Morgause, and her horse was deep rusted red-brown as if it had been dyed in the blood of the slain. They called her War. He flushed hot as the seal snapped, fire licking at his skin-- he almost drove into oncoming traffic. 

Couldn’t put it off anymore. 

He had his hand on the door-handle when the third seal snapped like a brittle twig; they were gathering force and speed. Famine unleashed on her black horse its ebony horn and her pale fey silence. 

It’s been fifty-and-change years since they’d last seen each other, Merlin sulking across the globe and throwing himself into this and that as only the truly hedonist can. Arthur’s store looked like a dungeon, tucked away in the bottom of a building like something forgotten by time. It sold antique weapons but Arthur was usually too surly-bordering-on-hostile to close deals. It didn’t bother him; he liked to maintain them. Merlin liked to make jokes about polishing swords that Arthur pretended he was too dignified to understand. 

“Oi, twat-face.” Merlin called into the shop, it seemed to suck his voice out of the very air. “Come out here, I’m sorry about the Internet, just come talk.” He hadn’t meant to create it’d been a by-product of the Cold War. It wasn't _all_ evil.

Arthur may have been the angel, but he sucked cock like nothing else. His eyes were so blue staring up at him. That colour didn’t exist anywhere else. _Merlin’s looked._

The sensation was purely human, nothing but synapses and chemicals going absolutely wild in his brain-- and this was why Merlin couldn’t stand the thought of losing the mortal plane. Arthur choked; eyes huge and watery. Merlin pushed his fringe away from his forehead and Arthur hummed low in his throat. Arthur looked so serene, jaw slack and cheeks flushed. 

“That’s right.” Merlin sighed, pressing his fingers against the skin of Arthur’s jaw and feeling himself thick and all stuffed in here. 

They could have done this all night, only Merlin’s spine was full of electricity and he was on the edge of cracking apart. Arthur seemed intent on waging the entire war with the tight squeeze of his throat. 

Merlin came with a wordless shout in a language that was comprised of nothing but mixed up sounds and no meaning. 

He slid down the case to sit at the bottom of Excalibur while Arthur messed up the flawless glass with a sweaty handprint so he could jerk off all over Merlin’s upturned face. He could will away the sticky mess or he could scoop it up with his fingers and suck it off in wet pops while making jokes about nectar.

“Not funny.” Arthur huffed, hair all over the place and mouth swollen. Merlin sucked on his bottom lip, chasing the salt taste of himself there. Arthur curled big hands around his hips while they kissed, argument forgotten. 

The fourth seal snapped and Arthur winced hard, head slamming into the case as he jerked away from Merlin. It felt like being dipped all over in ice. Merlin couldn’t breathe for long moments as it echoed across the multi-verse, every string in the fabric of every reality ringing with the bell’s toll. 

The pale horse ride forward, sallow yellow coat and rider wrapped in black cloth. She was beautiful underneath it all but what she touched turned to dust Hades followed in her wake. The tragic Guinevere. 

“We’re going to win the war.” Arthur stated simply. 

“You don’t really want that.” Merlin purred, licking Arthur’s chin. They both knew what the breaking of the seals meant and the four riders. There would be destruction and the final tally would be counted, the fabric of this reality warping and bending under the strain. 

“It’s destiny.” 

“ _Fuck._ That.”

* * *

**51.**

warnings: incest, underage sex, violence, implied major character death

mythology: Norse (particularly [the Ragnarök](http://www.spiritpathways.com/ragna.html))

Loki wakes- no, that isn’t the right word. Loki is _yanked_ into existence, screaming loud enough to wake the gods, eyes shuttered against the too-bright Midgardian light. Loki’s body is what humans call female; it is tiny and weak and utterly defenceless against the world it has been thrust into.

Thor is born a few years later, and Loki (Morgana, that is what this body is called, _Morgana_ ) knows him instantly, even with his mortal shell.

Morgana knows him, because for the first time since she drew breath, she does not feel alone.

~

They grow up together, like siblings, laughing and squabbling together, and it is not unlike a childhood of forever ago, a childhood they have only hazy memories of which fade with every passing day, until they are barely children still and Arthur, Thor, _Arthur_ says, “do you remember?” and Morgana just shakes her head, the uncomfortable weight of something forgotten sitting heavy on her shoulders.

They crawl into bed together, because they do not yet know what it means to sleep next to another person; they are only desperately longing for something they have never known but can almost find, curled together in each others’ arms, an innocent embrace.

The second time they share a bed is far from innocent. Arthur is fifteen and he has killed his first man, watched him bleed at the tip of his sword and the light dim in his eyes, and he cannot stop shaking. Morgana holds him tight and strokes his hair and whispers platitudes she knows he doesn’t hear and when that doesn’t work, she kisses him.

It is something she remembers – the warmth of his mouth against hers, the slide of their bodies, the way he sobs when she sinks down onto him – but it is not something she knows, and afterwards, when she has taken him to pieces underneath her and he is quiet and at peace, she squeezes her eyes shut and reaches for the memories that are almost within her grasp, but when she looks, she only has Arthur.

~

They grow older and older, but as well as growing up they grow apart and something in Morgana aches, the part of her that whispers in the night of another world, a better world, of a tree whose branches reach into the heavens, of the palaces of the gods drenched in blood, and Morgana always wakes weeping, a sharp, bitter longing clawing at her throat.

And then everything is shattered and reformed and shattered all over again and Morgana burns with a fierce, righteous hatred that is familiar and not all at once, for this man she called, calls, _will always call_ brother.

~

The battle, when it comes, is a disappointment. It is only death and death and yet more death and it does nothing to dispel the ache in Morgana’s chest, to break the chains that have restrained her from the day she was born. 

The battle, when it comes, is entirely predictable, and Morgana’s skin prickles with a familiarity she is long used to but still no closer to understanding.

And then she runs Arthur through with her blade and watches him choke on his own blood with an empty kind of satisfaction that lasts until he reaches up with an almighty, inhuman strength and stabs her in the heart. 

They crumple together on the ground, a parody of an embrace, their foreheads almost touching.

“Arthur,” Morgana manages, but the first syllable comes out mangled and only the second is really audible over the noise of the battle, and shocked recognition brightens Arthur’s eyes. 

“You,” he whispers, like he can scarcely believe it, and his face cracks in a smile she hasn’t seen in far, far too long. He presses that smile into her mouth, her cheek, her neck, his ragged breath tickling her skin. 

“You,” she echoes, and smiles back at him as the horn is blown and the world is split asunder.

* * *

**52.**

[Gremlins](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gremlin)

Gwen hissed through her teeth as her fingers danced over the ragged edges of the ripped cable. That wasn't shrapnel. Those were _teeth marks_.

"Dad? Dad!" she shouted, already running for the main hangar.

+++

"Gremlins," Tom told the Squadron Leader quietly. "They've got into at least three birds, plus a jeep."

Leon looked like he'd just sucked a lemon. "I'll tell the Commander."

+++

Wing Commander Arthur Pendragon was not having a good day. He had three aircraft grounded for no obvious reason (other than the shredded cables that were dripping fuel and other limited supplies), a pre-mission briefing tomorrow, and dinner tonight with his-father-the-Admiral, who always wondered (aloud) why Arthur had gone in for the RAF instead of becoming a Navy pilot like any sane young man would.

"Leon," Arthur said quietly, almost plaintively.

"Sir," Leon agreed. There was nothing else to be done. Only one thing stopped Gremlins.

"I'll requisition the grease, sir."

+++

"Miss," Gwen said cheerfully, shifting herself between Morgana and the hangar, "you don't want to be going in there tonight."

Morgana's eyes narrowed. "Don't I? Arthur managed to wriggle out of dinner with Father on the grounds of needing to personally supervise maintenance before a mission." Her lips quirked. "But if you're out here and not working inside, then I think the 'personal' part is the only truth."

"No, no, his job is very important!" Gwen bit her lip, then she leaned forward conspiratorially. "We have gremlins," she whispered.

Morgana grew a line between her eyebrows that said she was growing impatient. "Children's stories told by men who-"

Gwen shook her head. "No, I've seen their work. C'mon, I'll show you."

+++

From her current peephole, Morgana could see rather a lot. Rather a lot more of her adoptive brother than she had ever planned on, frankly.

"Is that kitchen grease?" she wondered aloud. Gwen nodded, smiling nervously.

+++

Elyan grunted, his lapful of squirming Percy feeling just this side of too much. "Oh god, don't stop moving, just-" He grabbed Percy's hips, holding on until they stopped twisting and just lifted up and drove back down, still entirely too good but no longer likely to make Elyan explode in the next five seconds.

Beside him, Lancelot groaned, eyes half-lidded and hazy. Elyan had to agree that Arthur always looked particularly delicious with a cock stuffed in each end, spitted and swaying on his hands and knees like he was drunk on sex. His body language didn't so much say _Wing Commander_ as sex toy. It was a good look on him.

Gwaine looked to be having fun too, bouncing cheerfully deeper into Arthur's peach-plump arse with each stroke of his cock. On the far side of them, Leon was holding his own cock gently, rubbing it just enough to soothe but not enough to get off. He liked to wait and take Gwaine's sloppy seconds, when Arthur was all stretched out and a little puffed up from the reaming Gwaine had given him, come still sliding slowly out.

Percy grunted and squeezed Elyan's shoulders with his massive paws, and Elyan jerked back to himself, focusing on the feel of being ridden by the biggest, most enthusiastic cowboy this side of the Atlantic.

Fuck yeah, he loved gremlins.

+++

Morgana drew back into the shadows. "That's how you rid your squadron of mechanical failures?"

Gwen nodded. "Works every time."

+++

Two weeks later, Morgause teased a cable out from behind the Gladiator's nosecone. Silently, Cenred handed her the serrated bolt-cutters and let her get started. Across the room, Tauren stood guard as Nimueh did the same.

"Works every time," Morgause muttered, scuffing at a spot of kitchen grease on the floor.

* * *

**53.**

**Warnings:** Check yourself into rehab, because this is crack.  
 **Myth/Legend:** Paul Bunyan & His Big Blue Ox, Babe (and this site is genius.)

Ox Seduction: You’re Doing It Right  
“How the fuck did I get reincarnated as a giant, fucking lumberjack?” Arthur asked. He turned his head to look at Babe and rolled his eyes.

“You really are enjoying this, aren’t you?” Arthur yelled into the air, sure Morgana could hear him in Albion. “Just had to make me a fucking freak, didn’t you?”

Arthur dropped his hand onto Babe’s head, patting. “Sorry, buddy, but this is whack.”

The blue ox snorted in exasperation and bumped Arthur’s hand off him.

“Hey!” Arthur cried, indignant. “I was just trying to-” but cut off when he saw the look on Babe’s face. _Ooooh!_

Arthur choked out a laugh. “Merlin? HA! You’re a giant, blue ox!” Tears streamed down his cheeks as he laughed until he couldn’t breathe. Of course, that’s when Merlin’s head knocked into his abdomen, throwing him back on his haunches. The ground beneath him pushed up and mounded behind his head.

When he finally caught his breath, Arthur smirked. He rolled his sleeves up over muscled, hairy forearms and charged, his shoulder pushing into Merlin’s chest and tossing him, pushing up even more of the earth.

Arthur laughed, deep and throaty, and then they were wrestling. They continued on for hours, throwing each other around, laughing and breaking the ground beneath them.

The next morning, they stood atop the Rocky Mountains.

*****  
Wandering with Merlin was what he enjoyed best, even if he was a giant, blue ox. Merlin couldn’t respond with anything more than huffs and snorts, but it didn’t stop Arthur from talking like a jackrabbit on caffeine.

Arthur wondered where everyone else was; if they’d been reincarnated, too, and if they knew Arthur and Merlin were the giant Paul Bunyan and Babe. He wondered what they would say or how they would react. If they even knew who they really were. Each thought was more depressing than the next, until Arthur was dragging his ax behind them, somber.

Then there was Merlin, loping beside him and he felt better. He wrapped his free arm around Merlin’s solid shoulders and said, “At least we have each other.” Merlin rolled his eyes, making Arthur laugh and heft his ax onto his shoulder.

But not before creating the Grand Canyon.

*****  
The blizzard came out of nowhere and Arthur turned as blue as Merlin while they got hopelessly lost.

The biting wind and cold whipped around them and Arthur pressed his frigid nose into Merlin’s back. Thankfully, Merlin was warm and Arthur wanted to wrap himself around him like coat. Instead his cold hands wrapped around his warm middle and hugged tightly. And if Arthur closed his eyes, it was almost as if he could pretend Merlin were human. Almost.

Arthur sighed.

Later, when they were out of the blizzard safe, they looked back and saw their large footprints trailing in circles behind them, forming the land of 10,000 lakes (Minnesota).

*****  
Arthur flung himself onto the ground and refused to move, pouting. “This is stupid. I just want to be human! Is that too much to ask! I _need_ you.” God, this sucked.

It was quiet for a long time and Arthur let his head hang. He really was glad to be reborn again, but he hated having Merlin so close and yet.

Merlin’s cool, wet nose pressed against Arthur’s cheek and he brushed it away. “Stop trying to make me feel better, _Mer_ lin,” he drawled, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Merlin licked him across the cheek and Arthur laughed. When he looked up, Merlin was staring at him. And even though his eyes were attached to an ox, they were still Merlin’s. He knew that.

A second later, they flashed gold, and Arthur felt his insides heat and his dick harden between his legs. His eyes widened and he looked at Merlin. He could almost see a smirk there.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Arthur grinned as he undid his overalls and pulled them down, hand wrapping immediately around his throbbing cock. He stroked himself while Merlin looked on. It didn’t take long, under Merlin’s quiet, hot gaze before Arthur was coming, his back arching into the ground, panting out Merlin’s name.

When Arthur had control of his limbs again, he found that he’d left a giant indent in the ground where he’d lay. Using his ax, he dug a channel and watched water pour into the hole.

Merlin drank deeply from Lake Michigan.

* * *

**54.**

Warnings: So sugary it will make your teeth rot. Sorry.

Myth/Legend Used: [False Arrival Apparition](http://www.paranormality.com/false_arrival_apparition.shtml)

 

Merlin was reading in the living room when it happened.

At first a quiet click of the door, then a shadow sweeping across Merlin’s vision before he could fully register it and a barely audible whisper of his name said with an achingly familiar tone.

“He’s back,” Merlin said to the empty room. “He’s on his way.”

Putting his book down on the table, Merlin collected all the empty tea cups from rooms they didn’t belong to and arranged the flat to look presentable for his more than a little neat freak boyfriend. Arthur knew Merlin wouldn’t clean after himself while he was on his own but preferred coming home when it didn’t look like a hurricane had visited the flat (Arthur’s words, not Merlin’s). Merlin thought about changing clean sheets, but he’d just end up changing them again tomorrow, so he didn’t bother. However, he did put the lube from the bedside table in his pocket just in case.

After 34 minutes of pacing (not that Merlin was counting), the door clicked again and this time it was the real Arthur who stepped in. Merlin bounced in the hallway to welcome him home, and, yes, there it was, Arthur’s voice, a little amused and teasing but affectionate all the same, saying,

“Merlin.”

Merlin had to kiss him then, because he had _missed_ him, damn it! Not that he’d ever admit it out loud, but being apart for days, because Arthur had some stupid business trips and Merlin had to stay back for his own job, never got easier.

Luckily he always knew beforehand when Arthur was coming back. It may have been connected to his magic or the emotional bond between them or it may have not, but somehow Merlin always knew. Sometimes it was a voice, sometimes apparition, sometimes just a feeling, and sometimes all three. When it had happened the first time, Merlin had freaked out and Arthur had not believed it when Merlin had told him, but now they were both used to it. There were weirder things than this happening around Merlin anyway.

Arthur shook off his coat and attacked Merlin’s mouth with his tongue. Carelessly Merlin pushed Arthur against the nearest surface which happened to be a priceless antique table. (Uther and Morgana would never forgive them if they broke it, but Merlin didn’t really care; the table really was hideous, although rather handy in situations like this.) Rubbing his thigh between Arthur’s legs, he quickly opened Arthur’s crisp white shirt and pushed his hands under it.

They didn’t even pretend to get completely undressed. In no time Arthur had pushed his trousers down at his knees, and Merlin had pulled a tube out of his jeans pocket before kicking the garment away. 

“You were prepared,” Arthur gasped when Merlin slid a slippery hand to grasp both their cocks while he fondled Arthur’s arse cheek with the other and pulled their bodies closer.

“Always.”

“You knew I was coming? Again?” Arthur breathed out, and Merlin hid a giggle in his neck.

“I don’t need visions to tell when you’re coming,” he said, trying to sound completely serious. Arthur groaned, either at the weak joke or because Merlin had just slipped one finger between his cheeks and pulled it across Arthur’s hole. Arthur covered Merlin’s hand on their cocks with his and squeezed, making Merlin whimper and mouth at his neck. 

With a whine he would probably find embarrassing later, Arthur came on his own shirt and Merlin’s hand only a few minutes after returning home. Merlin rutted against Arthur’s hipbone, gasping and withering, Arthur holding him up, until he glanced down and saw his cock, reddened and hard and proud, against the pale skin of Arthur’s hip and soft tan of his hand. After that it took only seconds before his come was mixing with Arthur’s.

Merlin leaned against his boyfriend and kissed him softly in post-orgasmic bliss.

“Hey, you, and welcome home.” 

“Hi,” Arthur said breathlessly, pulling his trousers back up (well, they were ready for laundry anyway) and stepping past Merlin to pick up his coat from the floor. “You knew I was coming?”

Merlin nodded.

“I thought we already established that.”

“So you missed me?”

Merlin looked at him with a raised eyebrow and grinned.

“Of course I didn’t. Whatever gave you that idea?”

* * *

**55.**

Myth/Legend Used: [Bigfoot/The Sasquatch](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bigfoot%20)

“I'd like a room,” says the skinny English kid at the front desk.

Arthur has to bite back a scathing retort. He'd been counting down the minutes till he could justify closing up for the night. He plasters on a smile. 

“So what brings you to Washington?” Arthur asks as he hands the kid his key.

“Oh,” says the kid, “Bigfoot.”

*

Arthur is used constantly juggling twice-daily phone calls to his father and a steady stream of demands and complaints, but most of the guests keep to themselves. 

“These are really good,” Merlin says when Arthur serves him his pancakes. “These are the best.”

“Best pancakes in town.” Arthur hangs by the table for a few seconds. He's curious. It's off-season, and the kid's so young. 

“Are you going to stand there and watch me eat?” 

“Just wandering what brought you to town,” Arthur asks. “How old are you? You out of school?”

Merlin scowls. “Like I said. Bigfoot.” He pauses. “Just inherited some money.”

*

Merlin does the bigfoot tour, like everyone does, and comes back flushed and excited with a blurry video on his phone that he shoves in Arthur's face. Arthur nods and smiles.

Arthur misses California. He misses spending time with people who haven't known him since he was in diapers. He misses not having to talk to his father twice a day. He misses not working in a goddamn B&B.

*

He takes Merlin out hiking, since Merlin's a city kid and would probably break his neck out in the woods if Arthur left him alone. The next day Merlin comes into the B&B with a plush bigfoot and announces shyly that he's going to name it Arthur.

Arthur _really_ misses California.

*

Merlin finds Arthur's chest hair endlessly amusing. “You're so hairy,” he laughs. “Like a sasquatch.”

“I'm not a fucking sasquatch,” says Arthur, then hisses as Merlin's tongue rasps over his nipple, hot and rough. He shoves Merlin downwards. “Put that tongue to better use, will you?”

“Yes, sir,” says Merlin.

*

After, Arthur feels a sick kind of guilt, because Merlin's so goddamn young, and because Merlin will barely look him in the eye. 

*

It's all about terribly timing in the end. Arthur hangs up on his father in mid-argument and punches the stupid, flimsy wall of the B&B, then storms down the corridor and walks straight into Merlin. 

“I'm sorry,” Merlin stammers.

“Get out of the way,” Arthur snarls, and Merlin's face twists – he thinks it's him, he thinks Arthur is angry with him.

“I'm sorry,” says Merlin, “I am – what happened – we shouldn'tve. I shouldn't even be here.”

“Yeah?” Arthur doesn't know what else to say.

“I don't give a shit about bigfoot,” Merlin says. “It was my uncle. This was his thing. He always said he'd go. That we'd go. He died last year –” Merlin's voice cracks a little, “– and he left me the money, so – I just got on a plane.”

“That's nice,” says Arthur. He thinks back to all the time he's willed his father to just fucking die already.

“Not really,” says Merlin. “That money was supposed to get me through university. I dropped out. He'd be so angry with me.” He wipes at his face.

“Don't start crying,” says Arthur.

“I'm not crying,” Merlin snaps, a bit too quickly. “I'm running out of money, but I can't go home. I just can't.”

*

Their second time is a little more subdued and a whole lot more awkward. Merlin's elbows keep jabbing at Arthur, and he keeps apologising, every time it happens.

“Sorry, sorry!”

“Stop apologising,” Arthur mutters, and pins Merlin down to the bed. He's a guest, and he's just a kid, and they really shouldn't.

He pushes those thoughts out of his head and gives the most enthusiastic blow job of his life, sucks Merlin's dick until his mouth is burning and Merlin shouts in an adorably British way and comes all over Arthur's face.

Arthur punches the stupid stiff B&B pillow, hard, hard enough that it almost hurts the way he wants it too. Merlin clutches at him, pulling him down into an embrace, mumbling comforting nonsense. _Shh, shh_. It shouldn't help, but it does.

Arthur wants so much to say _stay_ , but he shouldn't.

* * *

**56.**

Myth/Legend Used: [Power Animal/Spirit Animal](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Power_animal), [Muwin](http://www.native-languages.org/muwin.htm)

Arthur takes a last look at his tribesmen standing vigil beside their chief, their hopes resting on Arthur while they wait. He salutes his father, trying to look as brave and fearless as is a chief’s son's duty. Inside he’s terrified.

He ducks into the shaman’s wigwam. A thick, oddly sweet scent fills his nose; his mind begins to swim with the first inhale.

“Welcome.” The shaman’s voice is deep, creaking. His smile makes his leathery, ancient face crack with wrinkles. “It is time.”

Arthur hesitates and curses his doubt, his weakness.

“The spirit trance is nothing to fear.”

“And if I don’t find my spirit animal?” What if there’s no power to help him on his quest and his tribe suffers with drought without relief? He watched Leon announce when he saw the hawk; Geraint, the clever weasel. He watched them take their rightful places in the tribe. His father wears a wolf pelt as a reminder to all how powerful his spirit animal is. Arthur has dreamt of the disappointment in his father’s eyes should his only son be found unworthy of a guide.

“What you will find, young Pendragon, is your destiny.”

Steeling himself, he sits cross-legged by the heavily smoking fire and closes his eyes.

Despite Arthur’s greatest fear, it happens quickly. He opens his eyes and knows he’s far from his village. He’s naked, flat on his back in the grass. The forest around him is plush and green, nothing like the dry barren earth surrounding his village. He has a faint memory of playing by this river once as a child.

He sits up and his heart pounds; he’s not alone. At the bank of the river a black bear turns. Seeing Arthur it rises on its hind legs, golden eyes boring into Arthur. _Muwin_ , Arthur realises, the bear of great magic. It falls to its feet and the ground trembles.

Arthur, born and raised a warrior, gathers his wits in a blink. He scrambles for the large stick by his ankle, the only weapon he can see.

The bear rears up at him, roaring a fierce thunder in Arthur’s face. Something ancient and strong swells in Arthur’s chest and he stands to face the beast, unafraid. He stares it down, stick held ready to issue a death-blow.

But the bear falls to all fours and bows its head, submitting in the face of Arthur’s courage. Only then does Arthur understand. He has passed the test. He has found his spirit animal.

The bear begins to change. The thick black fur morphs into skin, its body becomes slender until there is a man kneeling at Arthur’s feet. He looks up at Arthur with shimmering eyes. His sharp cheekbones and pale skin is like no man Arthur’s ever met. And yet Arthur feels a tug of familiarity, of kinship.

Arthur falls to his knees, covering the man’s body with his own. The arch of the human-bear’s spine is ethereal. Arthur presses kisses to each glistening bump. He grows heavy with lust and knows he must claim this creature. He thrusts inside and they cry out their pleasure in unison.

He feels the bear’s power as he ruts into him and he trembles with it. Muwin has great magic and great honour; both are now bound to Arthur, protecting and guiding him. The man bucks beneath him, wild and pleasing, urging him faster in a language Arthur can’t understand, yet _knows_ all the same. He feels the rightness of it, their coming together, as though their bond is as old as the earth itself. They, like the honoured warriors of legend, will be terrible and fierce to all foes.

There’s a roar, loud enough to make the birds scatter from the trees as Muwin finishes. The sound is raw and primal. It was brought forth by Arthur’s taking and the power of it rips Arthur’s completion from him.

The lie together, listening to the trickle of the stream as Arthur’s mind is opened to the future.

Arthur wakes alone in the shaman’s wigwam. He takes a moment to prepare himself before he must stand before his people and name his spirit animal. _Muwin_. Arthur will be strong with his protection and wise with his guidance.

He knows the path to the river where the earth is full of life, and he will lead his people to it and they will prosper in those lands.

* * *

**57.**

Myth/Legend Used: [Mag Mell](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mag_Mell)

A warm breeze brings with it the smell of salt and crushed herbs. The ground is soft and downy, contoured as if it was made to fit his body. Merlin stretches and blinks, drowsy and content in the morning half-light, while gannets caw hoarsely over the low roar of the sea. 

It is only then, with his arms splayed overhead, that he realizes he no longer feels pain. The creaks of old age seem to have vanished overnight. 

He blinks again, focusing on his hands. No longer gnarled, the fine bones of his fingers stand out in sharp relief under unblemished skin. He gasps, a shock running through him while his mind runs in half-remembered circles . . . _the agony of bones crushing, the tinkling, cruel laugh of a woman as he gasps his last breath . . ._

Merlin jolts up, scanning his surroundings with increasing confusion. He sits perched on a grassy cliff, blue water roiling on sharp rocks below. The land is strange, yet familiar. Everything is bright. But how had he . . . He’d been buried in a cave. He’d been _dead._ And yet now he sits a young man with life racing through his veins. One thing is for sure: this is a place of magic. 

A chuckle comes from behind. Heart stuttering, Merlin leaps to his feet and whirls around only to feel the ground give way underneath. He falls to his knees, eyes focussed on the ghost before him. 

“Arthur?” 

“Well done, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur teases, blue eyes crinkling at the edges. He’s not the same man Merlin buried so many years before, fallen and bloodied on the battlefield. That man had been past forty, but this is the golden boy Merlin remembers from his first days in Camelot. 

“But you . . . you’re . . . you look . . .” He struggles to his feet again.

“I do look well, don’t I?” There is a faint trace of humour in Arthur’s voice as he eyes Merlin up and down, but his face has grown wistful. Gods, he’s so beautiful, Merlin might weep. “You look well, too.” 

Merlin blushes like a youth at the compliment. “Where are we?”

“Mag Mell, so they tell me. And no, before you ask, we’re not dead. But we’re not exactly alive, either.” Arthur’s brow furrows as though he’s confusing himself. “They said some things about being worthy; I suppose we’ve earned this,” he says, gesturing with a smile. “After everything.” Whoever this enigmatic ‘we’ is, Arthur doesn’t elaborate. 

The weight of lonely years is too heavy to carry alone. Merlin touches Arthur’s bare arm, half-expecting him to vanish in front of his eyes. But he doesn’t. The skin is warm, igniting old desires. Merlin closes his eyes and sags forward, caught and held by Arthur’s arms. 

There are no words after their mouths come together tentatively, then fiercely, hands gripping tight enough to bruise. Arthur is a force above him, pushing him down into the heather, pulling at the strings of Merlin’s breeches until he is free, hard and straining. He gasps while Arthur squeezes him, kissing his way down Merlin’s torso, tickling the concavity beneath his ribs with soft lips. 

Merlin buries fingers in Arthur’s hair, scratching against his scalp as his King takes his cock into his mouth, stroking it with his tongue. Above, the seabirds wheel in the too-blue sky. The sun is rising. He has to close his eyes against the unnatural colours of the land, even as his hips hitch, anchoring him to this strange place, this mouth, this man. 

His climax builds quickly, an ache that starts deep in his belly, then tightens and spirals until he can do nothing but moan and grip Arthur’s shoulders as the release storms through him, blood roaring in his ears. 

They’ve never had enough time. Perhaps this is a gift. 

Arthur hushes him with quiet words of love just barely audible over the sea. Just when his breathing evens he feels himself hardening again as Arthur continues to touch and tease. It recalls their first time in the stables when they couldn’t keep their hands to themselves, when the expanse of a week’s separation had proven too much and had opened up everything. It is like the time they knew would be the last. 

“What are you doing here, Arthur?” Merlin finally asks. His voice sounds young again, impossibly tender. 

Arthur smiles. “Waiting for you.”

* * *

**58.**

Warnings: dub con  
Myth used: [Will O' The Wisp](http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Will_o%27_the_wisp#section_7)

It happened one evening in the woods to the south of Camelot. Arthur and a couple of his knights had decided to go out hunting for a bit. Arthur, because he wanted to get away from his father's ranting and raving about magic. The knights, because they were bound and loyal to King Uther and therefore subject to his whims - like accompanying Arthur on a simple hunting expedition. . 

The light was fading and the shadows were creeping in when Arthur suddenly spotted a light. He looked around all of his knights were a few yards away setting up camp for the night. He really wished he could be out hunting by himself. With a sigh he turned back to the light. It was a small blue thing, kind of tear-shaped and oddly wispy. He blinked in confusion. It seemed magical, but it couldn't be. Everything his father told him about magic was that it was evil and this terrible thing. This soft light seemed neither of those. 

Just then the wisp - well he could swear the wisp moved. Arthur's hand tightened in his sword as he took a step forward. There was an odd sound then the wisp moved again, swaying side to side. It was like it was beckoning him. Wary, but still the bravest knight in the land, Arthur stepped closer. As he got close enough to touch the wisp, it suddenly disappeared. Then a trail of them appeared in front of him, leading off into the dark of the forest. With nary a glance back at his knights, Arthur followed the trail of wisps into the trees. 

\-- 

The wisps led Arthur on for what felt like hours. Every time the trail faded out a new one seemed to pop up. But his own curiosity was engulfing him. He pushed onward. 

Arthur was just about to give up and turn back to camp when the wisps finally led him into a clearing. Stumbling over a branch, Arthur moved to the center of the grassy patch. Moonlight shimmered through the overhead branches, turning the area a pale blue. It was surreal. 

Arthur turned in a circle, wondering why the wisps had led him here. A movement to his left made him jump. In a flash he drew his sword and rounded to face... a boy. A boy who looked not much younger than himself. Arthur blinked. 

The boy was tall and skinny. His raven hair glittered in the moonlight as he cocked his head at Arthur. Arthur adjusted his sword grip. 

"Who are you? Declare yourself!"

The boy just blinked at him, an odd look on his face. Arthur gritted his teeth and asked the boy again. 

"What's your name?"

"I have many names Arthur Pendragon, but they are all inconsequential. I have been waiting for you."

"Waiting? What -"

Arthur was cut off by a pair of lips descending to his own. Arms wrapped themselves around his neck, pulling him deeper into the aggressive kiss. For a moment Arthur struggled, tried to push the boy off of him, but he could feel his mind going hazy and his limbs becoming weak. He fell to the ground, the boy crawling in his lap and tearing open his clothes. 

Arthur gasped as the boy pulled out his hard cock and stroked it, flicking his thumb through the drops of precome leaking from the head. He tried to speak, but his tongue wouldn't cooperate. The boy straddled his lap and positioned himself over Arthur's throbbing cock. Then without a flinch lowered himself on Arthur's lap. Arthur groaned as his cock was enveloped by the strange boy, his body clutching Arthur tight and hot. 

"Wh-who are you?" Arthur asked in a trembling whisper. The boy smiled and rocked forward before leaning down to Arthur's ear. 

"Call me Merlin."

* * *

**59.**

One Thousand and One Nights

The Shah is beginning to lose patience.

Realising he’s not about to be pleasured in the manner he expects, he lifts up on bent elbows and eyeballs his stupid new slave.

One last time, he tries to explain. “You’re supposed to _entertain_ me. _Divert_ me in a _pleasing manner_.”

He even gestures to his prone body, arranged beautifully on costly silks. Couldn’t _be_ more obvious.

Then again...

“I know, but I can’t even think straight because you’re just going to have me killed in the morning. And it’s not like I can do magic or anything. I can’t even juggle!”

“Haven’t you been...prepared?” Exasperated, Arthur gestures vaguely at the boy’s whole person.

“Well, they’ve bathed me, if that’s what you mean. And. You know. Oiled me.” The boy looks away, pink around the ears, muttering something that sounds like _‘in strange places’_.

Arthur is incredulous. There’s nothing for it. He’s just going to have to pull out his cock.

He sits up, then realizes he’s not even horny anymore, and the stupid slave won’t stop babbling.

“I suppose it’s so I don’t offend your delicate, royal sensibilities.”

Arthur hums, eyes snagging on the complete opposite of offensive: the bony nub of a pale shoulder, lean, coltish thighs beneath the short tunic, and dark eyes skillfully daubed with blue. He’s really quite lovely, though Arthur suspects he absolutely doesn’t know it, which is just as well. Nothing worse than vain slaves.

“Well, it appears the one thing you can certainly do is talk. Come. Talk to me.” And what the hell? Arthur can’t believe he just said that.

With an excited little grin, the slave does just that, spilling lanky limbs onto the Shah’s huge bed like a child beginning an adventure.

~/~/~

“...suddenly a glowing orb appeared above the Prince’s head, guiding him to--”

“I know what you’re doing, you know,” Arthur interrupts, yawning as dawn razes his rooms with unearthly radiance. The sleepless nights are really beginning to catch up with him.

Merlin blinks, confused. “What?”

“You take so long to tell your stories that suddenly it’s morning and I can’t get rid of you if I want to hear how they end.”

Merlin tuts. “Well, no wonder it takes me so long to tell them. You and your stupid questions and your wandering hands keep interrupting!”

“I’m tired! I want to know what happens NOW!” Arthur grumbles, rubbing his eyes, ignoring the bit about the hands. He’d hate to analyse why he’s prepared to listen to Merlin tell him stories night after night instead of having his dick spend all its time between his pert-

“You’re one of those people who skip to the last page, aren’t you?”

Arthur glares. Stupid slave.

He rolls over, nudging his head into the nook between Merlin’s side and armpit. He curls in like a big cat and sighs.

“ _Fine_. Get on with it,” he mumbles into warm skin, ears full of warriors and monsters and a strange sort of love. He falls asleep with Merlin’s hand sifting through his hair.

~/~/~

“But he _can’t_ marry her, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. You’re obviously telling it wrong,” Arthur says, stretching out next to Merlin.

Winter is upon them, brightly dyed silks giving way to thick woolen throws. The Shah’s hand has held many beautiful things, but he can’t remember any of them being quite as fascinating as Merlin’s inner thigh, glowing with heat from the open hearth. He slides the very tip of his finger between tunic and skin, luxuriating in it.

“He needs sons to rule after him.” Merlin’s voice sounds breathy. Arthur looks up to find Merlin’s eyes hooded and his lovely mouth slightly parted.

“Aren’t there pretty slave girls in his palace? He can’t be very bright, this king.” Arthur’s finger burrows a little higher, and he’s rewarded by Merlin’s tongue darting out to wet his lip. Arthur’s eyes track it with astounding focus.

“He’s the greatest king who ever lived,” Merlin protests weakly, gasping when the full weight of the Shah’s kneading palm descends on his leg.

“I think you’ll find that’s me, actually,” Arthur says darkly.

“Oh, yes,” Merlin groans in agreement as Arthur’s triumphantly smiling mouth follows his hand under the short tunic. “And so very humble.”

Arthur bites him, relishing the startled yelp.

“If it takes me a thousand and one nights, Merlin, I’ll have you begging for me, I swear it.”

Merlin tuts, scooting lower on the bed of cushions. “And you say _I_ never shut up,” he mutters, guiding the Shah’s hungry, pink mouth between his thighs, opening his legs as wide as he can.

* * *

**60.**

Myth/Legend Used: [Ogopogo](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ogopogo)

-

Merlin stood in the clearing, annoyed, newspaper clenched in one hand. He tapped his foot in the brush, his boots sinking into the rich soil of the Okanagan valley. 

His companion looked anything but contrite. 

Merlin snapped the newspaper open, the headline **OGOPOGO SIGHTING** large and stark against the newsprint above a grainy out-of-focus photo. 

“I thought we talked about staying away from lakes,” Merlin snapped. 

Kilgharrah chuckled, his breath hot and dry in the damp forest. 

“Am I not allowed a bath, young warlock?”

“This,” Merlin said, waving the tabloid, “is why we had to leave Scotland.”

Kilgharrah’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. “So I see your memories are returning.”

“Yes, but that’s not the point. Unless you want to be featured on the next episode of _Monster Quest_ , stop drawing attention to yourself.”

Kilgharrah lazily rolled onto his side. “It was merely a tactic, Merlin. You will not be complete until you find the other half of your coin.”

Merlin scowled. “I _know_ but Arthur is not going to appear in Kelowna because you make a spectacle of yourself.”

“We will see,” Kilgharrah answered.

Merlin wearily rubbed his eyes, wondered how talking to ancient cryptic lizards had become his life, then he turned and trudged away. 

“Where are you going?”

Merlin sighed. “Reincarnated medieval sorcerer or not, I still have to go to work.”

-

Days later, Merlin was half-heartedly price-marking the newest Ogopogo snowglobes when he was interrupted. 

“So have you seen it?”

Merlin looked up, stuttered out a breath, caught off-guard.

The man in front of him was tall, broad, and cast a shadow on Merlin’s souvenir cart. He smiled crookedly, his hair a shock of gold in the sun, his large sunglasses reflecting Merlin’s stunned expression. 

It was Arthur. 

_Holy shit,_ Merlin’s brain supplied. _Kilgharrah will be smug for the rest of eternity_.

“Seen what?” Merlin responded dumbly. 

Arthur tapped the button on Merlin’s chest which proudly stated: **I SAW OGOPOGO AT LAKE OKANAGAN**.

Merlin blushed, nerves singing. “Oh, yeah, loads of times. He’s a bit of an arse actually.”

Arthur laughed. “I bet you say that to all the tourists.”

“Only the cute ones,” Merlin answered. 

Arthur smiled, pushed up his sunglasses. His blue eyes sparkled like the lake water. “Are you flirting with me?”

“That depends,” Merlin said, “on if it’s working.”

Arthur gave Merlin an appraising look. Merlin flushed all over, tingling from his toes to his scalp. “Most definitely. Can I buy you a drink when your shift is over?”

Merlin nodded, mouth dry. “I’m off in ten minutes.”

-

They had drinks. On their second date, they went to dinner and a film. On the third, Arthur dragged Merlin to quiz night at a local pub.

On the fourth, Merlin let Arthur fuck him. 

Splayed on the sheets, panting, Arthur opened Merlin slowly, swallowing Merlin’s moans with deep kisses as Merlin arched into Arthur’s skillful hands. Merlin felt bared, fragile, memories of previous times hovering close but every touch new and different in this incarnation of his body. 

“Fuck, Merlin,” Arthur whispered into Merlin’s shoulder as he slid in, body shuddering, skin slick with sweat. “I need you.”

Merlin echoed the sentiment in choked breaths and needy whines, his cock hard and heavy between his legs, Arthur a wall of heat along his spine. 

Arthur fucked with long, slow pulls, his grip devastating on Merlin’s hips as he pulled Merlin back on his cock with every thrust. 

“Please, Arthur,” Merlin moaned as Arthur’s pace quickened, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling up the room, increasing with Arthur’s grunts and the snap of his hips. 

Merlin came with Arthur’s hand pulling on his cock, mouth open in a soundless cry, body shuddering as Arthur fucked him through his orgasm. Arthur followed shortly after, filling Merlin with hot come. 

Sweaty and sated, they collapsed in a tangle of sweaty limbs, Merlin’s head resting on Arthur’s pounding heart. 

“I feel like I’ve been searching for you,” Arthur whispered, on the edge of sleep. 

Merlin smiled. “Me too.”

-

They were a happy mess, kissing and breathless, giddy as they stumbled into the forest by the lake. 

“Where are you taking me?” Arthur hummed against Merlin’s mouth. 

“Just a bit further,” Merlin coaxed. “I have something to show you. Trust me.”

“I do,” Arthur said, kissing Merlin sloppily, happily. 

Merlin tugged Arthur into the clearing just as Kilgharrah glided to a soft landing. 

Arthur gasped. 

Merlin smiled. 

“Apparently,” Merlin explained, “we have a destiny.”

* * *

**61.**

The Sandman

Merlin knew the cave looked dodgy. Knew it. So, the Sandman kipping there shouldn’t have technically been a surprise, nor him showing his ‘appreciation’ at the disruption by sending Arthur into dreamland.

After informing him that the enchantment would break when Arthur woke up, the Sandman vanished into the ether. Merlin didn’t think his echoing laughter was necessary, but it had been that sort of day. 

He knew there was more to the enchantment than simply awakening – the fae were never that straightforward – Arthur had to _want_ to wake up. Or rather, he figured that out after hurling every non-damaging spell he could think of at his King for fifteen hours. To no avail. 

There was a Dream Walking spell in the back of his old magic book that he recalled, but he was wary of trying it. It felt like a violation to intrude upon Arthur’s subconscious. However, after exhausting all the other options, it felt like the only choice left. The longer Arthur slept, the harder it would be to wake him up. 

Merlin closed his eyes, relaxed his body, and pushed his consciousness into Arthur. It felt like sliding into a warm pool, and he could feel Arthur’s essence enclose around him. He had the sensation of walking through a blanket of fog, lost and without direction, hoping it would break and materialize into something tangible.

After flowing aimlessly through Arthur’s mind trying to find his soul, the fog dissipated into a scene in Arthur’s chambers. 

His breath stole away. 

Spread on Arthur’s fur rug in front of the fire was his doppelganger, clawing at the rug, desperate, as Arthur fucked him from behind. It was shocking, unexpected, and _beautiful_. 

Merlin clutched at his scarf, gasping for air, as his double writhed on the floor in shameless ecstasy. And Arthur. Arthur’s face was something he’d never dared to dream: reverent and devoted, his glance affectionate and warm. His hands caressed every inch of his double’s skin.

He was Arthur’s dream. 

It hurt like a sword in his chest. Merlin _wanted_ this – had always wanted this, and Arthur.... Seeing Arthur forget reality to be with him was like standing on a pyre, burning for sin. 

“Arthur.” His voice broke on the name. 

Arthur stopped fucking the double and looked at the real Merlin, confused. “Merlin?”

“Arthur, you’re dreaming.” 

Arthur looked at him like he was stupid, and Merlin knew he was, but time was running out. The dream was like a magnet pulling at his soul, trapping him with Arthur in his fake reality. He squeezed his eyes shut and refocused. “Arthur, please, you have to wake up. Open your eyes. This isn’t real.”

Arthur looked momentarily confused, before he pulled out of Merlin’s double and approached him. His cock was shining with lubricant and gloriously hard. Merlin yearned to reach out and touch him. Arthur clasped his hand behind Merlin’s neck and pulled their foreheads together. “Don’t be and idiot, of course you’re real.”

“Well, yes, but this dream isn’t. Arthur, you have to listen to me…” Arthur’s lips silenced him and Merlin felt like everything he had ever wanted was being cruelly dangled in front of him.

He found himself suddenly without clothes and Arthur’s hot palm enclosing his erection. “Oh god, Arthur.” His knees were weak and his head was spinning, and he was _drowning_ in Arthur, surrounded by him. 

A flash of Camelot crossed his memory and he pushed back, away from Arthur’s lethe lips. “No, Arthur, Camelot.” Arthur’s hand was still stroking up and down his erection, making thought difficult.

“We are in Camelot.” Arthur’s breath was hot and damp at his ear, and Merlin shivered and ached from how much he _wanted_. 

“But this isn’t real.”

Arthur cupped his jaw and looked at him with such _love_ , Merlin wanted to cry. “You’re the most real thing that’s ever happened to me,” Arthur whispered. And Merlin wanted to lose. Forgot. Drown in Arthur’s lips and touch and vibrancy. 

He was Arthur’s and Arthur was his, and truly, did the real world matter? Arthur’s touch was an apogee, and Merlin wanted this always. Reality shattered and all that remained was Arthur’s touch and a climax that wasn’t so much a release as it was a symphony. 

After, Arthur whispered love in his ear, and they kissed until the world started to dissolve. Arthur faded around his fingers and Merlin clutched at what was left of him, desperate and horrified.

~~

Merlin opened his eyes.

* * *

**62.**

Warning: Dub-con

Myth/Legend Used: [Gaueko](http://www.pantheon.org/articles/g/gaueko.html)

Merlin has the human, this _Arthur_ , pinned to the ground beneath him as he studies him intently. Even in the darkness, Arthur’s blond hair seems to shine, and Merlin imagines that those bright blue eyes are the colour of the sky by the light of day.

“Why do some of you refuse to listen, when I try so hard to keep you safe?” Merlin asks pleadingly, almost desperately even as anger churns in the pit of his stomach. “You’re not cursed to live a life in the darkness, and yet you act so careless and ignorant when you have the chance to live a normal life. _I’ll_ never have that chance.”

It’s more than he’s ever admitted to any human. Arthur has been struggling to get away ever since he was first pinned, but at Merlin’s words he finally stills, chest heaving from exertion.

“I _said_ that you should return home,” Merlin continues. “I _told_ you it wasn’t safe until sunrise. And you _laughed_ at me.”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says, voice muffled from where his face is still pressed into the ground. “I shouldn’t have acted like I was above you. Just let me go and I’ll head straight home, all right?”

“It’s not that simple, it doesn’t work like that!” Merlin snaps. “You scoffed at the darkness, acted as if you had no fear of it. You did not heed my warning, and for that, you must be punished.”

Merlin can feel Arthur tense under him, and the rage he’s been fighting against bubbles over slowly as Arthur resumes struggling (it’s futile, of course; Merlin’s strength is far superior).

He drags Arthur’s hips upwards until Arthur’s arse is pressed firmly against Merlin’s length and palms Arthur through his breeches. Distantly Merlin realises that he expected Arthur to put up more of a fight given how much he was struggling before, but instead Arthur has merely hung his head, his body pliant and allowing Merlin to touch him without argument.

Well, Merlin’s not really going to complain about that.

Slowly he begins sliding Arthur’s breeches down, only for Arthur to whimper when the fabric brushes against his cock. Merlin stills for a moment as he recognises the noise as one of pleasure, not pain, before he resumes pulling at them and only stops when they rest against Arthur’s knees.

Arthur may not be fighting him, but he’s still incredibly tense, and Merlin can hardly even work one finger into him at this point.

“Relax,” he mutters, voice tight, struggling not to growl in annoyance when Arthur lets out a sort of strangled half-laugh in response.

“Relax? I’m about to be fucked by someone who can change forms at whim.”

Still, he loosens up marginally after that, allowing Merlin to get two and then three fingers into him before being deemed ready.

Merlin enters Arthur abruptly, not even pausing to give him time to adjust as he begins moving at a near brutal pace almost immediately. Arthur is tight around him, and it’s all Merlin can do not to come immediately.

After a few more thrusts, he hits something inside Arthur that causes Arthur to choke out a moan. The sound sends a jolt of pleasure through Merlin in turn and he leans down, draping himself over Arthur’s back as he continues slamming into him.

“The darkness is dangerous,” Merlin breathes into his ear as he wraps his hand around Arthur’s cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts. “You’d do well to remember that.”

Arthur comes before he does, fingers scrabbling at the dirt and panting heavily, but Merlin is quick to follow, spilling into Arthur with a groan.

It’s only when Merlin pulls out, coming down from his orgasm that his actions sink in, and he backs away from Arthur quickly, a look of horror on his face. He’s never gone this far with a punishment before, and Merlin is disgusted with himself.

He watches Arthur wince slightly as he pulls his breeches up gingerly, and it just makes Merlin feel worse. He expects Arthur to leave, to get as far away from him as possible; what he _doesn’t_ expect is for Arthur to walk toward him.

“It’s not much of a punishment if I enjoy it,” Arthur says, and Merlin is still trying to figure that one out when Arthur kisses him.

Merlin might still be appalled by what he did, but he kisses Arthur back all the same.

* * *

**63.**

Warnings: I guess there is mpreg (briefly mentioned) but there aren't exactly men or wombs, so... I don't know. Extremely crackish (and brief) mpreg.

Myth/Legend Used: [Ymir](http://www.pantheon.org/articles/y/ymir.html)

Until recently, Merlin hadn't know anything but the cold. Not moments ago he had been nothing but a chunk of ice in a mountain. He had been no different than the chunk of ice next to him or on the other side of the mountain or at the top of the mountain. He was simply there.

Then a horrible, hot wind had blown over everything. A dopey, drowsy mass had melted and slipped out of the mountainside, and now Merlin was a part of something else entirely. He was part of something huge and slumbering and dripping with evil. Merlin was the leg.

Well, Merlin was _a_ leg. There was another one, too.

Merlin wasn't happy about no longer belonging to the nice, cool mountain. That had been a happy, innocent life. Now he was a part of this wicked creature that couldn't even be bothered to wake up and have a look around.

Merlin looked around for himself and found that there really wasn't much to see, except the other leg.

The other leg was beautiful. It was strong and muscular and Merlin desperately wanted to rub up against it. It looked like it might still have the chill of the mountain in it.

"Why are you staring at me?" the other leg ask.

Merlin twitched in surprise. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare."

"I don't mind the staring. I just wanted to understand why."

Merlin looked up at the slumbering giant that they were a part of. He was still asleep, slumped pointlessly against the side of their ice mountain.

"You're lovely," Merlin said quietly.

"You as well," the other leg said quickly. "Are you called anything?"

"I call myself Merlin."

"I'm Arthur."

There was silence after that and Merlin drifted off, wondering if their other body parts had names or voices. When he woke up again, it was because Arthur was rubbing against him.

"Mmm?" Merlin hummed, stretching and flexing and making sure that he was real and still a leg.

"Sorry," Arthur said, stilling. "You looked... soft."

Merlin looked down at himself. He wasn't as muscular as Arthur, but he certainly wasn't soft.

"Your hair, I mean," Arthur explained. "It's so dark."

For the first time, Merlin noticed the brown hairs that were sprinkled over him. He looked at Arthur and saw that the other leg was dusted with almost invisible blond hairs. They did made Arthur look softer somehow. They made him look more delicate.

Merlin moved over and brushed against Arthur. "This feels nice," he said, pushing closer.

"I know," Arthur said in a low voice. "You're so warm."

Merlin squirmed and rocked with Arthur, trying to touch as much of him as possible. Arthur was solid and hot with blood pumping through the veins just under his skin. Merlin had hated the warm wind that had melted them off the mountain, but Arthur's heat was different. It was tingly and needy and Merlin found that he needed, too.

"More," Arthur gasped when their ankles crossed over each other.

"Yes," Merlin agreed. He knocked their knees together and Arthur gasped, sliding insistently against Merlin with constant, overwhelming movement until Merlin could barely think.

"You're perfect," Arthur choked out. He moved over Merlin and under Merlin and dragged himself all along Merlin's side, which sent Merlin into a fit of shivers.

"Please," Merlin whispered, feeling that he might lose himself in the mind-numbing pleasure of Arthur completely ravishing him. He hoped that none of the other body parts were watching them.

Arthur rubbed their thighs together and Merlin trembled with desire and anticipation. Then, pressed tightly against Merlin's side, Arthur brushed his toes over the top of Merlin's foot and all Merlin could do was moan. He cramped all over in horrible, intense pain, but he didn't want it to stop. He wanted more, he _craved_ more, and Arthur gave it to him until he was nearly sobbing.

Slowly, Arthur edged away, keeping only their toes touching. Merlin relaxed and the pain seeped out, leaving a dull ache of pleasure behind.

"Are you all right?" Arthur asked gently.

Merlin flexed all of his muscles, working out the last of the remaining cramps. "Yes," he breathed. "Are you?"

"Yes."

Merlin sighed and slid his ankle up and over Arthur's, crossing them comfortably.

He fell asleep thinking that maybe heat and existence as a leg wasn't going to be too terrible. But then he woke up with a very swollen knee and Mordred crept out of it a few days later.


	4. Part A (clean)

**1.**

**A Weakness for Fine Things**

No servants, no feasts, and no music. Just Arthur, his ramshackle cottage in the woods, and a ferocious determination to make it on his own. He rebuilt his home with his own two hands, washed his cares away in the nearby river, and farmed the land until it burst with the fruit of his labor. He had a life of his own now and was happy, even if he was slowly going mad.

It started small with misplaced dishes and missing buttons. Pretty soon though he was finding bouquets of flowers where his tools should be, destroyed clothing, and his horse too exhausted to ride. Yet, the crops were harvested, his blankets mended, and baskets of fruit left at his door daily. It was both infuriating and oddly endearing. There were days Arthur couldn’t decide whether to punish the culprit, or thank them.

One afternoon he’d been gathering mushrooms in the forest when a flickering light in the distance caught his eye. The more he tried to ignore it the more insistent, almost hypnotizing, it became. He soon found himself following it deep into the woods until it faded and everything grew dark.

~*~*~*~*~*~

When he woke Arthur found himself flat on his back and strapped down to the mossy ground by what looked to be vines of ivy. Worse still, his shirt was in tatters around his body and no matter how he struggled he couldn’t break free of the vine. He was formulating a plan of escape when a tiny creature zipped past and then returned to hover close to his face.

It had the likeness of a man. A very small, very naked, palm-sized man in a green loincloth with dark hair, blue eyes, pointed ears, and the most delicately beautiful wings he’d ever seen. They were almost translucent and they shimmered and fluttered behind the creature as it stared down at him. It began to gesture expansively and rant, it’s “voice” sounding like outraged wind chimes.

Arthur couldn’t understand a word it was saying, he only knew that it felt he was somehow to blame. Arthur should have been angry himself but was still a little in shock and the creature was, quite frankly, enchanting. He watched bemused as it’s furious scolding died down until it simply hovered there above him, chest heaving in exertion and antennae twitching wildly.

“Beautiful.” Arthur breathed. The pixie glowed briefly in what looked like embarrassment before it’s face twisted with some strong emotion. It dived down to cling to and stroke his hair as it trilled longingly into his ear.

“Merlin.” Arthur repeated dumbly, all of the sudden uncomfortably aware of his exposed chest and unfastened breeches in the cool night air. Merlin continued to babble and sing against the sensitive curve of his ear and Arthur felt his face grow hot, felt his body ache from the slew of heated confessions.

The pixie flit back up to kneel, feather light, on his mouth and cling to his nose in a desperate embrace. Arthur couldn’t hear the things he crooned anymore. He was only able to watch as Merlin’s expressive eyes darkened with desire as the warmth of Arthur’s breath pushed between his legs to flow along the hypersensitive lace of his wings.

The pixies mouth parted in a needy cry, revealed a set of needle sharp teeth and Merlin stared hungrily at the dazed and intrigued expression on Arthur’s face. He watched Merlin’s knees part almost unwillingly; watched the pixie slide down, molasses slow, to straddle his mouth and press flush against the damp heat there. Merlin’s tiny body glowed and his silky wings moved restlessly as he writhed against the plump weight of his lips. Arthur relished the unyielding pressure of the ivy, was utterly entranced by the sparkling vision in front of his eyes and uninterested in escape.

Merlin’s squirming grew frantic and his pitchy little cries triggered something dark, and utterly primitive in the back of Arthur’s mind. Something that wanted to make the creature scream louder in that sweet, musical voice. Unable to resist, he eased the very tip of his tongue out to stroke carefully, wetly, along the sweet smelling creature riding his mouth. Merlin almost immediately stiffened and came with a fluting keen, back arched, tiny hands grasping at the bridge of his nose, and tasting of honeysuckle. Arthur’s hips thrust up unconsciously in reaction, cock blurting precum as Merlin shivered and crooned something that sounded terrifyingly like...

“ _Keep you_...”

* * *

**2.**

The joke is that Arthur was born two nights sleep under par. There are always bags under his eyes, and he never accepts invitations to go out on weekends, because he's tired. His friends tell him not to work so hard.

Arthur is always in bed, asleep, before ten pm. Every night.

***

When Arthur drifts into sleep, his dreams are aflame. He can feel Merlin's presence before he sees him; feel how hungry he is. He projects it, he _radiates_ it; the feeling of being starving, of being so empty it burns and gnaws away inside him.

'Come here,' says Arthur, opening his arms, and Merlin is there. He can't control himself like this, dying of his needs, of his nature. He opens his mouth against Arthur's bare skin, sucking wet and desperate. 'Hey, hey,' Arthur murmurs, trying to soothe him, remembering long ago nights wide awake in his chambers, with Merlin frantic in his arms. 'It's okay, Merlin, don't fret, I'm here -'

Merlin turns his face up to Arthur's, eyes black from lid to lid, no gold and no blue either - everything he was subsumed between what he is now. It fits with the burning, the darkness in Merlin's eyes. He'll come back when he's had what he needs. Arthur raises his hands to Merlin's neck and brings him in to kiss him, like mouth to mouth resuscitation. He wants to bring Merlin back to life.

Before long they're on the ground, curled around each other, Merlin mouthing at the join of Arthur's thigh to his body and then at his cock, taking it in deep without preamble, without breath, and it's all Arthur can do, in the heat and the delirium he's catching off his lover, to reciprocate.

The taste of Merlin is like a drug, honeyed and sweet and so bad for you; and like a drug it stops Arthur caring about anything but getting more of it. He drags himself down, down, further down, sucking, breathing sob-like through his nose but air is nothing compared to Merlin between his legs and in his system.

Arthur wants to make love to Merlin. Merlin wants to devour him. Arthur hasn't had his way in three hundred years. Merlin is this way because of Arthur.

Arthur will take what he can get, give all he can give, live this life for every hit he can handle and feed Merlin's hunger with every part of him.

His only regret, as Merlin brings him to his peak and swallows every drop, jerks out of Arthur's hold and comes across his face, braced over his body, all lean, gleaming muscle and bone, the god of - no, the demon of sex - his only regret, Arthur's only regret, is that this is only a dream

***

'We can't keep on like this,' says Merlin, when he comes back to himself and the black recedes to gold recedes to blue in his eyes. 'It isn't safe.'

He says this every time. 'I need to find someone else,' he says, pleading. 'Let me find someone else, just for a while.'

Arthur shakes his head, keeps holding Merlin by his hips because he can't bear to let go.

'Please, Arthur. I don't want to kill you,' Merlin whispers. 'Not again.'

* * *

**3.**

"Merlin! You're not supposed to be here!" Arthur hissed. It was bad enough that he was trussed up on a stone altar without the love of his life seeing him like this, although -- if he survived, he had a few ideas to spice up their sex life. "Go away! Now. Before the Morrigan gets here."

Camelot had lost too many wars and they were in danger of losing more. Uther was changing his battle tactics -- it was time for desperate measures.

But not measures as desperate as _these_.

Arthur did not know where Uther had found the seer nor how he had convinced her to throw the auguries despite the threat of death for using magic under Camelot's rule, but his father had definitely gone off in the head for believing that sacrificing his firstborn son to the Goddess of War would win him her favour.

Maybe it would, but --

"Why are you -- we talked about this! You can't be here!" Arthur glared at Merlin. If the Druids did their job properly, the Morrigan should be appearing any time now. Arthur didn't want Merlin to see what might happen. Death, or, worse --

Merlin stood at the foot of the altar, watching Arthur with an inscrutable look.

It shouldn't make Arthur hot, but it did. He remembered tying Merlin's flailing limbs to the bedposts, fucking him into the mattress, but now the roles were reversed, and --

Merlin was staring at him with dark, lust-filled eyes. Arthur's cock flushed full of blood.

"Merlin! You shouldn't be here. Go away! Go!"

"Do you really want to do this?" Merlin asked.

"What, let my _totally delusional_ father sacrifice me to some War Goddess because he thinks he'll win the next battle? Of course not!" Arthur pulled at the shackles. "It's not like I have a choice! And nothing else that we're doing is working, is it?"

"Fine, then. We'll do this. I've been meaning to take the next step anyway."

"Merlin?"

Merlin unknotted his red scarf. "It's unbelievable, you know. How much the Druids have forgotten over time. No one _summons_ the Morrigan. The Morrigan doesn't grant favours to those who sacrifice their bravest and strongest warriors. That's just dumb, if you think about it."

He shrugged out of his coat and pulled off his tunic, revealing smooth, white skin stretched over sinewy muscle. Arthur banged his head on the stone table. "What are you on about? I told you to -- What are you --"

Merlin kicked off his boots and shimmied out of his breeches. "The Morrigan is the Chooser of the Slain. Why deprive the Morrigan of the pleasure of plucking the best from the battlefield?"

Arthur gaped. Merlin climbed on the altar and straddled Arthur's hips, grinding their hard cocks together.

"Merlin --" Arthur warned, finishing with long, low groan of pleasure that he couldn't quite bite back.

"That seer your father spoke to? A charlatan," Merlin continued, chattering on the way he did when he was scrubbing Arthur's armour, except now those long, agile fingers were shoving their way up Arthur's arse. It burned, but each scissoring push was mysteriously wet and slick. "A real seer would've known that one man has had the Morrigan's favour all along."

Arthur gasped when Merlin filled him with his cock in one hard thrust. Merlin stilled, running a soothing hand over Arthur's chest and fingers through his hair, easing him from pain to pleasure with soft kisses.

"All he had to do was give me his love. And you love me."

"You! But... The Morrigan's a _woman_!"

"The Morrigan's a shapechanger, Arthur. That's how I appeared to people back in the day," Merlin said, rolling his hips in a slow, languid fuck. "But, really, the Morrigan's just... me."

Arthur strained against his bonds. Merlin's blue eyes flashed gold and the shackles holding Arthur down snapped open, the chains clattering on the ground. Arthur wrapped his legs around Merlin's waist, angling his hips.

He gasped and saw stars.

Merlin fucked harder, faster, deeper. Arthur needed only a few pulls of his cock, but he was joined by Merlin a moment later in a climax that left them both breathless.

" _Mine_ ," Merlin whispered. "You're always going to be mine. Now tell that pillock of a King that you've been granted the Morrigan's favour, that you'll be given his favour again and again, and to get the fuck out of your way."

* * *

**4.**

**”Up, My Six, in the Name of Men!”**

Arthur knew he and his men had to seek refuge soon, or they would not survive the night.Their cloaks, ragged and threadbare from the trials of their journey, offered little protection from the ice and hail mercilessly beating down upon them.

By sheer luck, Arthur spotted a small farmhouse, the lit lamps in the windows shining like a beacon through the storm. He pounded at the door, fearful the inhabitants would not hear the knocking over the fierce howling of the wind.

The door creaked open, and a young man cautiously peeked his head out, his blue eyes widening under a fringe of unruly black hair. Arthur suddenly felt desire stir within him, but before he could dwell on it, a gnarled hand yanked the young man from behind.

"Merlin, you good for nothing lout--Eh?" came a grating voice, its owner a wizened old crone. "What do you lot want?"

The stench emanating from the woman was so horrendous, Arthur grimaced. "My men and I require shelter for the night, and a seat at your supper table."

"Feh." The woman spat on the ground at their feet, but still allowed them to enter.

Arthur did not miss the gleam in her eyes.

*

The interior was filthy and in disrepair, reeking of waste and decay. But it was warm at least, and the men soon felt themselves begin to thaw.

The young man, Merlin, seemed to play the role of indentured servant to the mistress of the household and the rest of her ilk. Arthur cared not to remember their names, nor their disfigured faces.

As the group sat down to supper, Merlin leaned over Arthur’s shoulder to fill his goblet. “Tell your men,” he whispered in Arthur’s ear, “to only eat what’s on the outside of your plate.”

When the food was finally served, Arthur understood: he had been in enough battles to recognize human flesh from mutton.

*

“You have to go,” Merlin pleaded softly, gasping as he writhed on the wall Arthur had him pinned against. Once they had stolen away from the watchful gaze of the others, the two were unable to resist keeping their hands off each other in the haven of the darkened hallway. “I could distract them long enough--”

“I will not leave,” Arthur growled as he wrapped a hand around their aching cocks, slicked with sweat and pre-come. As he furiously stroked them to climax, he muffled Merlin’s moans by hungrily capturing Merlin’s mouth with his own.

After cleaning each other off (Arthur bathing Merlin’s softening cock and stomach with his tongue as Merlin sucked Arthur's fingers), they hastily redressed before their absence could be noticed.

“Do not fall asleep,” Merlin warned, his eyes fearful. “'Catrina' comes at midnight.”

*

On the midnight hour, the old woman entered the attic room Arthur and his men were given for their stay. She bent over the beds, feeling their chests and muttering, “Strong, but too lean.”

She repeated this and similar sentiments until she reached Arthur. “Plenty of flesh, full of vitality.”

Before she could swing the axe she carried, Arthur jumped to his feet and wrestled it away from her. Stumbling back in shock, she shouted, “Up, my twelve, in the name of trolls!”

“Up, my six, in the name of men!” Arthur roared in return, severing the woman’s head from her body in one fell swoop.

The trap door to the room was thrown open, and Arthur disposed of the troll that popped up in the same manner, as well as the one that followed. When the blade grew dull, Arthur used the axe to bludgeon the rest, their brain matter splattering on the floor, until all the foul creatures were slain.

*

“You’re finally free,” Arthur said to Merlin as he watched his men advance towards the now abandoned house with lit torches, determined to burn the bodies that rested inside.

Merlin didn’t respond at first, too busy searching through what they looted from the trolls’ treasure, and pulled out a small key triumphantly. “I am now.”

Before Arthur could question the significance, Merlin unlocked the manacles from his wrist, the cold iron falling with a clink as he raised a splayed hand in the direction of the house. Instantly, the building burst into flames, removing the trolls’ blight completely from the world.

“...God have mercy,” Arthur whispered as he stared at the golden shimmer in Merlin’s eyes.

Merlin chuckled as he pulled Arthur in for a kiss. “I think he already has.”

* * *

**5.**

A stark ray of golden sunlight enfolded the perfect lines of the sword that pierced the boulder by the pond. The farmer pulled it out and buffed the bright blade on his rough homespun shirt, then raised it to examine the flawless edge with a critical eye. He slid a gentle but firm hand all down its length, tested the edge with his thumb, and tossed it in the pond.

"Surely you don't expect to tempt me with such a poor copy," he called as a woman's graceful arm caught the sword before it touched the water. The arm seemed to shrug, then sank silently beneath the surface with the sword.

On re-entering his humble cottage, he found the table had been set with tea for two, though no one waited to share it with him. He picked up the new teapot, which was fragrant and steaming with his favourite tea, and poured himself a cup. "Not going to join me?" he said conversationally as he began spreading clotted cream and jam on his scone. "How much longer do you plan to sulk?" There was no reply.

The farmer sighed in exasperation, and dashed out the cream harder than necessary, sending a dollop flying to splatter across the teapot. He stopped and frowned for a moment, his brows knitting, then he straightened and grinned.

"How filthy," he remarked, flipping another spoonful of thick cream at the teapot. He dribbled some of the soft-set jam over it as well, making sure to smear the cream and jam well with his fingers. "Oops." The teapot seethed with steam and he snatched his fingers back. "Ow."

"What a terrible mess. I apologise, let me help clean you up." So saying, he picked up the teapot again, and gingerly pressed his lips to its side, which went from scalding to just over comfortably hot in the fraction of a heartbeat between his lips touching the surface and pressing down firmly.

The man grinned and adjusted his hold to let the teapot rest gently on his palms, then leaned forward and ran his tongue over the widest trail of cream and jam, making encouraging sounds of pleasure as he traced the meandering path down to the base of the teapot, where he pushed his tongue into the creamy crevice between the teapot and his palms to get at the warm liquid pooled there.

The teapot twitched. The man lapped greedily at the base until it was clean of cream and jam, then followed the smeared streaks up the smooth, rounded sides of the teapot as it began to squirm in his firm grip, up the curving length of the spout to the tip and nudged the opening there with his tongue, whereupon it gave a mighty heave and twisted from his hands to fall onto the table as a flushed and heaving young man, slightly wild-eyed.

Arthur spread his sticky palms over the long thighs parted before him to frame him on either side, rubbing soothingly. "When you agreed to come live on a farm with me, you never said there would be so much sulking," he said reprovingly.

"Why did you even want a farm to begin with? It's not like you're doing any of the work." Merlin batted away his hands and pushed backwards to sit up properly, crossing his legs. "Ugh, I'm sitting on your scones."

"Farms are peaceful," Arthur said. "You wouldn't understand. Come here and let me get you clean," he leered and pulled Merlin forward by his calves, sending teacups and plates of scones crashing to the ground.

"Oh, I understand, you just want to roll around all day without any responsibilities, ah, Arthur!" he broke off with a satisfying moan and threw back his head as Arthur pulled his legs open and began to nuzzle at his crotch. "But we, ah, really need to, ah!"

Arthur gave his straining cock a little teasing lick, and grinned at the way it jerked in his hand. "The zombie plague can wait. This is Avalon. You were the one who said time passes as we like here." He licked a line up the shaft and lightly dipped his tongue in the little slit at the end, echoing his earlier ministrations on the teapot.

"Fine," Merlin gasped and flailed for something to hold onto, then buried his hands in Arthur's soft hair. "Sex first, then we'll go save the word."

* * *

**6.**

Guinevere can hear the sounds of the dying from outside. She turns away towards Lance who lies before her in this cave by the Nile. The few loyal to her are outside fighting off Pendragon and his army. He is the reason she is here and Lance is dead.

"Can you save him," Guinevere asks.

Merlin and Morgana exchange looks. Gods that they are and with all the power they hold, they are Guinevere's last hope.

"The spell won't last," Merlin says, his deep blue eyes sorry as they look at her.

She is Merlin and Morgana's queen and Lance is their king. Guinevere is certain this is the best they can do.

"How long," she asks.

Morgana's hand is cold in Guinevere's. The touch is meant to be reassuring, but all Guinevere feels is hatred, a disgust for titles and the jealousy they attract. Lance's kinghood comes from the very first god himself, father of the pharaohs. She is his bride, the true queen of the Nile and Pendragon has stripped them of their right, has murdered his brother. All for a queen he cannot have and a heart that belongs to someone else.

"How long," Guinevere repeats.

"An hour," Morgana answers.

Guinevere nods. "Will you keep watch?"

Merlin meets her eyes, "of course."

Guinevere watches while Merlin and Morgana perform the spell. She doesn't look away when they uncover Lance's body, all the pieces, and start putting him back together. Pendragon made sure she would never find Lance again, but he doesn’t understand what determination can do. He doesn't understand what this man means to Guinevere, what he meant to her people and what the union that is to happen will mean to the world.

Lance's body shines blue with each murmured spell from Merlin and Morgana. The sorcerers' eyes shine gold like the sun as it rises. Guinevere can feel their power in the ripples in the air around her. Once the spell is complete and Lance lies whole and bare before her, Guinevere falls to her knees. She cradles her king's head in her lap, strokes her fingers through his hair. She doesn’t notice when Merlin and Morgana slip away.

Lance is warm in her embrace, alive and well.

"My queen," he whispers.

His voice is rough from disuse, a mockery of the way he used to speak to her. Guinevere can feel her heart beating in her chest. She leans down, her eyes locked with Lance's caring brown eyes. His lips are soft beneath hers, his hands gentle on her face as he kisses her. He tastes of sand and the wind.

And still, the ticking of time is ever present.

Lance's hands are smoothed over as though the water has done him good. Guinevere falls into him, the way he runs his hands up her side, over her shoulders. He's gentle with his hands even as his teeth mark the skin of her neck and his body rocks against hers. Her dress is in the way, but Lance knows as well as Guinevere does that there is no time. He pushes the fabric aside, pushes inside her and moans into her neck. He's hard, moving easily against her wetness.

"I will bear you a son," she breathes as she moves.

Lance's hips come up to meet her and Guinevere can feel the time slipping through her fingers. It makes her desperate for this to last, to catch that look in his eyes when he sees her.

"I will call him Mordred," she whispers.

Lance feels good inside her, like power, like a promise. But Guinevere won't let him take over. She needs him to know, to hear the last promise she will ever make him. Outside, the sounds of the dying have quieted. There is no way for either of them to know what that means.

Lance catches Guinevere by surprise, pushes her down onto the cave floor. He moves with intent, his eyes dark with desire. Guinevere's release catches her just as she's memorising Lance's face. Lance falls on top of her, his body cooling and there's no way for Guinevere to know how long they have left.

"I love you," he says into the shell of her ear. "Always."

Lance goes cold in her arms.

"Our son," she vows to the cave and the wind. "Our son will be Arthur Pendragon's undoing."

Outside, the Nile continues to flow.

* * *

**7.**

“I dream about flying sometimes,” says Arthur.

Merlin doesn’t turn around. He knows he’s going to look at the wrong place if he does, so he just keeps cleaning. “Is that your message for Lady Morgana for today, your Highness?”

“No. There’s no message for today. Be on your way.” Merlin leaves, confused, without finishing half of his chores.

+

Nobody knows whether the Prince’s confinement to his quarters is self-exile or one imposed by the king, and since the king, Arthur, and Lady Morgana are the only three who know for sure, it’s unlikely anyone will find out. Merlin knows how it happened, of course, the spell turning Arthur into a swan, Lady Morgana’s vow of silence as she stitched him a shirt of nettles that made Uther cry sorcery, the desperation that had her throwing an unfinished shirt over Arthur’s head and turning everything human but for one wing. Everyone knows that story.

Now, though, is the mystery, the speculation, and Merlin can’t help his curiosity.

+

“Tell Morgana I know what she’s up to and it’s not funny,” Arthur says, and Merlin looks over, doesn’t let his gaze snag on the cream feathers but meets Arthur’s eyes.

“What’s she up to?” he inquires, not that he expects to get an answer.

Arthur’s mouth quirks. “She’ll know what I mean.”

+

Merlin’s a terrible servant. He doesn’t know why Morgana brought him before the king after he’d only been in Camelot a week and asked that he be made Arthur’s manservant. He still asks her sometimes, and her maid Gwen more often, but both of them assure him there are reasons that he doesn’t need to know yet.

He asked Arthur once, in one of the first conversations where he dared say anything beyond a greeting, but Arthur just stared at him for a long moment, smiled, and looked away.

+

“Morgana says,” Merlin starts one day, banging through the door without knocking (he comes in every day at this time, after all), and then freezes and nearly drops the lunch tray.

There’s Arthur, spread nude on his bed, human hand down between his legs, and, now that Merlin’s here, wing shielding his groin. Merlin lets the door swing shut behind him in the silence. He tries to think of anything to say before he excuses himself, but he can’t take his eyes off the white feathers and remembering the glimpse he caught of what they’re obscuring. “What does Morgana say?” Arthur asks, amusement coloring his tone, and when Merlin looks up at his face there’s a predator’s smile breaking across it.

“I have no idea,” manages Merlin, voice faint, and when Arthur beckons—with the hand that was just on his _cock_ —he goes.

+

Arthur drags him close and wraps his wing around Merlin, and Merlin can’t help the fraught noise he makes at the tickle of feathers on his skin. That makes Arthur blink at him, startled, but a second later he seems to discard his questions and fits his mouth to Merlin’s, biting at his lower lip.

Merlin kisses him hard, climbing into his lap and putting his hands all over the prince’s naked skin, brushing against the feathers of his wing whenever he can find the excuse. Arthur’s erection is an insistent weight between their bodies, impossible to forget, and Merlin has to tear away from Arthur’s mouth to suck bruises down his chest and finally, finally wraps his lips around Arthur’s cock like it seems like he’s been wanting to do forever.

When he sucks, Arthur bucks up into his mouth, and Merlin pins his hips down with an arm and does it again. That time, Arthur’s hand comes to grip and tug in Merlin’s hair and his wing brushes against the side of Merlin’s face. Merlin turns into the soft touch, trying to keep his lips on Arthur’s skin at the same time, and moans, already beyond words.

“Oh,” breathes Arthur, like he’s having a revelation. “Oh, you like that.”

From there, it’s just the heat and the taste of salt in his mouth, and after, the way Arthur deliberately trails his feathers through the mess Merlin makes and smiles, brushing it over them both.

+

“I’m going to get you free, break the rest of the spell,” Merlin promises later, long after he should have left to avoid suspicion.

Arthur smiles and noses at Merlin’s hair. “And that,” he whispers, “is why Morgana chose you.”

* * *

**8.**

"You are still my king," Merlin whispered in the close, private space against the hollow of Arthur's throat, where he smelled like soap and skin.

Arthur pulled away, his gaze shuttering. Merlin pressed his lips to Arthur's shoulder, hating that he could heal his king's wounds and bind his flesh, but he was helpless to take _this_ pain from him. Not even Merlin's magic was strong enough to create something where nothing remained.

Arthur rolled onto his side, putting his back to Merlin. Merlin stared at the lines of it, the harsh set of his shoulders. His lips thinned. He caught Arthur's arm and pushed him onto his back.

Arthur only tensed for a moment, then relented. Merlin shut his eyes and drew an unsteady breath. It was _wrong_. Arthur should have been fighting him, should have clawed tooth and nail against Merlin's manhandling. Merlin never should have been able to make him do anything he didn't care to.

When Merlin opened his eyes, Arthur's gaze was bleak and distant. Merlin traced down his arm, following tendons and the lines of muscles until he threaded his fingers through Arthur's and clasped their hands together. "I want you to touch me," he said. Only sheer determination kept his voice steady.

Arthur pulled against his grip. His mouth twisted, wry. "I can't do that if you won't let go."

Merlin notched his chin up. "Yes, you can."

For the briefest flash, he saw the past in Arthur's eyes. The same hallowed look Merlin had seen before, when he'd fought his way through the battlefield to find Arthur, a mess of blood and gore, one hand hacked to ribbons. Merlin had dropped to his knees beside him and tipped one of Gaius's potions down his throat. The pain had receded to a distant, dazed stare, but the grief had remained. He'd turned his face away in shame and muttered, "Who will want me for a king now?"

"I would," Merlin had said without hesitation, then corrected himself. "I will. I _do_."

Now, Arthur lay beneath him, his fingers clenching around Merlin's and his face turned away just as before, tight with shame.

" _Touch me_ ," Merlin said, gripping Arthur's hand until his fingers hurt.

Haltingly, Arthur brought up his other arm, the one that ended at a stump and had only white, twisted scars where his hand should have been. He touched it lightly to Merlin's cheek, but wouldn't look at him. Color washed his cheeks, and his breath came in sharp gasps.

Merlin nuzzled against Arthur's wrist, then laid a deliberate kiss on it. He let his tongue trace the scars, watching Arthur through heavy-lidded eyes.

Arthur's breath hitched. Heat and something else, something hard to identify, flooded his gaze in the instant before he wrapped his arm around Merlin's back and pulled him in hard.

Merlin sank into the kiss, reveling in Arthur's hunger and ferocity. It was so rare, these days. But when Arthur kept his arm wrapped about Merlin's waist, its end buried in the folds of his shirt, Merlin grabbed double fistfuls of his hair and growled, " _More_ ," against his mouth.

It was an awkward process, stripping down to their skin, but that had more to do with the way Merlin always got his long limbs tangled in his clothes than any lack of Arthur's. He'd adapted quickly to life with only one hand, even as he'd resented it.

Once they were both naked, Merlin pushed Arthur beneath him again. He straddled Arthur's hips, braced Arthur's hand against the bed, and gave him a pointed look.

Arthur touched him gingerly at first. He grazed the back of his wrist down Merlin's chest and across his stomach. But when Merlin shivered and his cock began to fill, Arthur's gaze heated. He set aside his self-consciousness and reared up to bite at Merlin's shoulder.

Merlin moaned at the contrast of coarse hairs and rippled scars grazing along his cock. "More," he breathed, then bit back a cry when Arthur slid his stump between Merlin's legs, back between his cheeks.

When he couldn't bear the teasing another moment, Merlin pushed Arthur's arm away. He rose up and lowered himself onto Arthur's cock, rode him through his own orgasm until Arthur cried out and shook apart inside him.

Afterwards, when they were both sated and sluggish, Merlin stretched out atop Arthur and whispered into that secret space at the base of his throat, "You will always be my king."

* * *

**9.**

When Arthur stepped into the clearing near the river, he saw her. A wild thing, more creature than woman, and he’d thought it was a trick of the evening’s glow, shadows dancing through the moonlight. But upon closer inspection, he found her to be a young woman of sorts. She must certainly be a woman with her wide hips and heavy breasts, her nest of hair black and coarse, frayed and thick as it feathered down well past her knees. For having so much of it, her hair covered so very little or maybe Arthur just stared long enough to see everything.

Every inch of her was untamed: the perfect arch of her shoulders as she leaned over the bubbling waters, the tender dip of her spine and the round of her arse, the shadows that played between her supple thighs, the dark tips of her breasts.

Arthur didn’t know any better. When he chased her, he couldn’t control himself.

**

He called her _Morgana_ , but she had no name. She laughed at him, his language, his clothes, his strange, hairless body. The thing called Arthur was a curious creature. She liked to pin him and feel his body squirm beneath her. She liked to grind her naked cunt to his soft legs, wet him with her juices and come undone against his thigh with nothing but his startled expression to guide her climax.

Sometimes, they wrestled. Arthur was very strong, but she was stronger. She got him on his back and he spoke to her in a language she didn’t understand, noises that sounded welcoming as they dripped from his tongue. Sweet. She looked down at him and saw a helpless thing that she could hold in the palm of her hand. The choice was difficult: to slide her tongue over every inch of him or feed him to the dogs that howled in the night.

He called her Morgana, and she liked it. Being alone with him. The boy with soft yellow hair and moonlight pale skin. Sapphire eyes, twinkling like starlight reflected on the bluest rivers.

She leaned down that day and bit him. She hadn’t expected that he would moan in response.

**

Every time Arthur chased, Morgana was one step ahead. No sooner had Arthur reached for her hand than she had his face in the dirt and her teeth on his nape. Her rough nails dug into his skin, ripped his clothes, her body ground against him from behind. Arthur could practically taste her urgency, and it was addictive, how wild and raw she was, how unfettered by society’s standards, how free from expectations. The years he’d spent in service to his country vanished, all obligations obliterated, his head empty as a blank slate just waiting to be filled. When she held him down, Arthur enjoyed the reversal.

“Please,” he told her, and how could she understand to know what he was asking for?

**

Morgana slid a finger into her boy. It was enough to see his reaction, the buck of his hips, the dig of his clean, clean fingers in the dirty, wet ground. She saw clumps of filth squelch under his nails, and that affected her as much as the sight of his red mouth biting the leaves and twigs beneath his lips. She encouraged him, applying the pressure of a second finger, the need to mate overwhelming and strange. It wasn’t done like this. Her people, the Almas, they never took boys to their beds in such a manner.

As he came, Morgana rolled his name on her tongue, eyes flashing in the dark, addicted.

The next time he sought her out, she used her tongue, thrusting it deep enough to make him shout. His orgasm shocked out of him like thunder, and Morgana laughed and laughed, her wild hair in sweaty ringlets about her pale face. She claimed his mouth next, then thrust her clit between his lips and bade him in her own language to _suck_ and _yes, like that, pretty mouth_ until she spilled down his chin and onto his flat tongue and watched him drink her up like a man dying of thirst.

After, Morgana dragged him to the thatch of grass that was her bed and curled beside him, her head and all that wild hair spilling over his nude body, the clawed wounds from her nails on his chest. She inhaled his scent. It was her own now. He belonged to her.

* * *

**10.**

In his dream, Merlin places his hand on the tree, palm flat against the bark to feel life pulsing inside. Up from the roots that burrow deep into the ground to the leaves that dare to brush the very top of the sky, the power that Merlin summons pulses through him, too. With a whispered word, he sends his power through the rest of the king's forest and, he hopes, to the king himself.

He feels the surge and the summons, and a faint, damp chill at the edge of the wind, followed by a lull. Merlin sits down at the foot of the tree; he's patient, he can wait here until night falls and the king answers his call.

The wind picks up first, slow, then sudden, stirring the leaves and making the branches creak. A slap of rain hits Merlin in the face and the storm is upon him, tearing at his hair and his clothes. The storm swells with the thunder of hoofbeats and the baying of hounds. Merlin stands at the center to let himself be battered and windblown by the storm, so that when the hunt swoops from the sky above him, he is shaking with cold and anticipation.

Most night, ghosts and demons ride with the hunt, but not when the king leads it. He commands a fairy host out of Avalon and they are no less wild, no less vicious on their night of freedom than any of the other riders.

"I've come for the king!" Merlin shouts up into the storm when he can see the hunt hover beneath the clouds.

One rider separates from the others signals for the rest to stay. His horse's hooves never touch the ground and Merlin can see the rain and trees through both their forms. "No mortal can survive the Wild Hunt. But, then, you aren't mortal are you?"

Merlin takes a step closer and holds a hand out to the horse, who nuzzles up to him with a quiet whinny. His form flickers, and grows more substantial, until Merlin feels the warmth of his breath.

"He remembers you," the king says and pats the horse's flank. He dismounts, pats the horse again, and walks up to Merlin. "Right. Help me out of my armor, now that I've come for you."

That everything around Merlin -- the night, the storm, the forest, the hunt -- feels unreal ceases to matter when he sees Arthur flicker into full being at his touch. A thousand years have passed since Merlin last served Arthur, but he remembers all the little idiosyncrasies of his king's armor.

He remembers Arthur's touch, too, and when the tips of Arthur's fingers graze Merlin's jaw, warmth flushes over Merlin's face despite the cold.

"There, now, I've come back tonight." Arthur touches Merlin's neck and slips one finger beneath the collar of Merlin's shirt. His mouth closes over Merlin's after he tugs Merlin close, and the taste of rain lingers between their lips as they kiss.

A lull settles around them, but at his back Merlin can hear the storm and the hunt anxious to rage again. He wastes no time in getting his hands up under Arthur's tunic, kissing him harder and harder until he can push Arthur up against the tree.

Because Arthur feels real beneath his hands, he doesn't care how rushed this has to be, or how their mouths crash against each other with an intensity that hurts them both. He is hard and wanting, and his body yearns towards Arthur's with a wildness of his own. Merlin can ignore the rain and the wind when he has Arthur's breath harsh and loud in his ear and Arthur's cock, hot and hard, in his hand.

He doesn't even care that he has to get them both off painfully fast, his hand jerking at Arthur's cock while he tries to keep himself as close as he can to Arthur.

It's the one moment he has had with Arthur in a thousand years and he is going to take all he can and save it up for a thousand more.

+

When Merlin wakes, he knows at once that he is the pulse of life inside the tree, still awaiting the rumble of phantom hooves against the ground and the scream of the ghostly wind in the sky.

* * *

**11.**

Merlin finds Arthur most receptive after sex. Once the sweat and come are cooling off and drying and-, “Gross, Arthur, it was your turn to clean us off!”

It’s after they writhe together, and Merlin digs his nails into Arthur’s shoulders and Arthur bites at his lip and thrusts into him ruthlessly until they’re both wild with it that they fall apart, together; that’s also when Merlin’s brain seems to go into overdrive, pushing him to reach out for his glasses and his laptop and furiously type up his thoughts and theories.

One night, when the only thing illuminating the room is the glow of Merlin’s screen, and Arthur traces idle patterns with his fingers up and down Merlin’s torso, Merlin’s mind reels.

“Do you ever feel guilty, Arthur?” he asks, turning to watch Arthur’s face in the blue hue. Merlin’s leg is hanging off the bed and their dog Killy is licking at his toes, one by one. Merlin scolds him, “Stop, Kill, your chew toy is in your doggy bed.”

Arthur looks at Merlin, fingers stopping the patterns, grins, “Guilty? You mean for taking your virginity all those years ago?”

Merlin rolls his eyes, “No, I just- it’s this assignment for my mythology class. The prof wants us to rewrite a myth or legend from another culture and I’m just sitting here feeling ill with White Guilt, because what right do I have to do that? I mean, here’s this white dude going all ‘oh hey, appropriate some cultures.’”

“Aren’t you a white dude, Merlin? The whitest, even?” Arthur chuckles, turning his face into Merlin’s neck (Merlin’s weak spot), no doubt so Merlin doesn’t smack him. "Is this because of that race, class, culture class you took last term?"

"No, I-"

The licks at Merlin’s toes continue, and get sloppier, so Merlin kicks his foot back up on the bed.

“Eugh,” Merlin says. “What the hell is going on with Killy tonight? I feel like my foot just took a doggy slobber bath.” He rubs his foot dry against the bedsheet.

The noise Arthur makes is clearly meant to signify, ‘Gross, but no, I don’t want to move, so if you care so much, you do it.’

Neither of them moves.

Merlin hears shuffling around the bed until Arthur groans in disgust, and he can’t help letting out a squeal of joy at Arthur’s misery, before turning back to his screen, frustrated.

“But how am I supposed to just take some myth from Africa or Cambodia and feel okay about transforming and modernizing it. It's almost like- like- almost like colonization!” Merlin knows his train of thought is getting away from him now, what with it being well into the early-morning hours, but he only has two days left on this paper.

“Couldn’t you just pick a myth from some other ‘White Dude’ culture? Scandinavia, the Slavs?” Arthur’s voice makes the quotation marks obvious, even as it softens. Arthur jerks suddenly, “Killy, stop that before I kick you.”

“Oi!” Merlin hears shuffling, but no whining, so he figures Killy is okay and going to bed.

“Sorry, he’s just being really weird tonight,” Arthur moves back to nose at Merlin’s neck, “even weirder than you.”

“Oi” Merlin says again, but he's too tired for it to hold any heat.

“Go to sleep, Merlin,” Arthur mutters.

“But this transformative fiction assignment! I have-“

“-a whole day tomorrow.”

Merlin sighs, but closes his laptop and puts it back on the floor with his glasses, before cuddling up to Arthur, trying to let all errant thoughts of Kali, gerudas and fertility gods drift away, so he can get some sleep.

***

The morning sun manages to sneak its way through the curtains and hit Merlin straight in the eyes. He grumbles for a bit, but seeing that the giant mass of pratty boyfriend lying on top of him barely moves, Merlin gets out of bed to go to the loo.

He stretches, making his way down the hallway, hearing dripping; the faucet probably, another thing they have to fix.

He switches on the light and turns to relieve himself when the stench hits him, right along with the sight: _Killy_. Hanging, body torn apart, the dripping sound his blood falling onto the tiled floor.

Merlin uses the wall to hold himself up, from falling, from retching, as he takes in the words behind his beloved pet, _Humans can lick, too._

Merlin screams.

* * *

**12.**

The few pale fingers of sunlight reaching between the trees were dimming when he heard the cries.

A white crane, thrashing on the ground in a snare, throwing itself toward the sky and crashing down again and again. It would soon break its own neck, the fool. Its cries grew squawking as he neared it. It beat its wings, frenzy-strong.

It was probably stupid to bother, he knew, even before he took a blinding blow to the jaw. He swore and dropped his wood, throwing his arms around its wings. "I could have you for stew tonight, you know!" he yelled. They grappled until it stilled, twisting its long neck back to give him a glare so humanly baleful he laughed. It pecked him in the arm. "Hush, idiot. I'm helping you."

The crane ruffled its feathers, keeping one beady eye on him. It did not move. He let go slowly, with one hand, moving down to loosen the snare and expecting his eye plucked out for his effort. "Easy, friend," he said, and freed it. He stepped back. It lifted its leg with careful slowness--scraped raw, bent a little oddly. The crane opened its wings and, with a flurry of white feathers that kicked up the white snow around it, was gone.

Arthur gathered up the kindling that hadn't grown damp from the snow, jaw aching, fingers numb.

He nearly didn't hear the knocking over the screaming wind.

"Please," the stranger said.

He'd been nude, his long white body shuddering. It still did now, even clothed and blanketed before Arthur's meager fire. He'd been robbed, clearly--could barely walk on his wounded leg, and his hands and feet nearly blue from exposure.

Arthur gave the man hot soup. His fingers were half frozen--he held the spoon awkwardly, cursing and finally picking up the bowl and slurping from it. Arthur didn't comment, only slowly sipped at his own, and watched the stranger press his bowl to his lips, watched his cheeks and nose pinken by degrees, and tried to remember the last time he'd shared a meal with someone.

The first night, the stranger, Merlin, slept in Arthur's arms and leeched warmth from Arthur's broader and unbruised body and his chattering teeth kept Arthur up half the night.

He grinned easily. He touched easily. Arthur felt little points of burning where Merlin had touched his arm there to tell him how grateful he was; where their fingertips had touched here as they passed some bread; where Merlin had touched his nape, as he stood and asked if Arthur was ready for bed.

The second night, Merlin slept in Arthur's bed because Arthur didn't have another. He didn't often have guests. Arthur tried not to flinch, and feigned sleep, loath to give Merlin reason to be uneasy as his guest.

Merlin placed one hand, terribly, over Arthur's heart. "I am grateful, Arthur," he whispered.

Arthur couldn't swallow, his throat was so dry. "You don't owe me anything, Merlin," he said. He turned over, Merlin's hand grazing his nipple as it fell away. He willed himself to sleep, to be unconscious to the shifting body beside him.

Merlin had breakfast ready in the morning. "I notice you have a loom, in the back," he said. Arthur's trousers hung loosely on his hips. He didn't wear a shirt.

"It was my mother's."

"I have some skill," Merlin said. "I will be out of your hair before long, but I can earn my keep. If you do me a favor, and don't watch me. Just promise me that." It was an odd request, but Arthur was ready to grant it.

"It would perhaps be enough to repay you." Merlin looped a circle around Arthur's wrist, which Arthur pulled from his grasp.

"If you insist, that alone would be repayment enough, Merlin."

"Yes." Merlin looked up at him through dark lashes. "I think so, too. Anything else, then--it wouldn't be a matter of debt, would it?" He grinned.

The third night, Merlin shared Arthur's bed, but neither slept.

"Don't leave," Arthur gasped as Merlin licked his hip, licked up his cock, engulfed him in an all-consuming heat. "Please," he said.

"Promise me," Merlin whispers in his ear, rutting against the come on Arthur's thighs, "Promise me, and I won't leave--"

"I promise, I won't, I'll never--"

* * *

**13.**

**Merlin of the Sorrows**

The golden man appeared in his dreams; strange dreams for a boy who’d never known anyone but Gaius in all his fifteen years. Only the King came once a year to assess Merlin’s growth and education. King Uther of Ulster spoke little to Merlin; just stared at him with an indecipherable expression. It was somehow _hot_ and perhaps…hungry? Gaius never looked that way. Merlin had never understood it.

Merlin wasn’t allowed outside the keep and none save the King was allowed in but Gaius conjured images in a glass for Merlin so that he’d see there was a world beyond the walls that’d always surrounded him. Still, he’d never seen anyone like the golden man from his dream, nor had he seen anyone do what he and that man had done…

_He gasped a name, but it was lost in the haze of heat from the golden body pressed to him. Eyes bluer than the sky stared into his, sweat plastered shining strands of golden hair to fair skin and full pink lips moaned Merlin’s name before plundering his mouth. Tongues twined, they drank from each other, exchanging liquid heat. Callus roughened fingers stroked Merlin’s soft white skin leaving trails of fire in their wake._

_Sitting astride the man’s lap, Merlin pressed his naked flesh close, writhing in pleasure and begging for more than just skin and lips. Strong hands gripped his buttocks, spreading them wide; a spit slick finger pierced his body’s center. Merlin gasped in shock at the burn, simultaneously pained and pleasured. Still, it wasn’t enough, he needed more. He was empty and only _this_ man could fill the void. The finger withdrew and powerful arms lifted his slender body higher. Suddenly Merlin felt something hot and _thick_ press against his aching need, nudging insistently against the tightly furled flesh. Merlin panted as he was penetrated to the core. Whimpers escaped his lips; it hurt. Gods, it hurt but he wanted it so badly. The void was filled, _overfilled_ , stuffed and straining to contain what he’d absorbed. _

_The golden man began thrusting upward and Merlin screamed in agonized ecstasy. The burning soon eased and the pain disappeared. In its place was exquisite pleasure and a sense of fulfillment that Merlin could never have imagined. He clenched around the flesh embedded deep within him. Pressing fevered kisses to a beautiful face and neck, Merlin grasped the man’s powerful shoulders and rocked their bodies together. Hands on his hips helped him rise and fall until they were both sobbing incoherently with pleasure. Sweat-slicked bodies rubbed together in delicious friction and Merlin had never known his manhood could grow so hard or ache so fiercely. His flesh tightened and exploded, showering his golden lover with his velvet white essence. He continued to rise and fall ever more rapidly until the blond head fell back, sinews in the strong neck and shoulders strained and plush lips shouted his name over and over. Merlin felt the flesh clasped so closely inside his body throb and pulse. He felt the diffuse heat of his lover’s release and smashed their lips together even as the man was whimpering helplessly. Then…_

He woke up. Gaius had told Merlin he would grow into the gift of his birth, that his dreams would be prophecy. He knew he’d just dreamed of the man he was fated to love. He also knew the King would never allow it. He’d sequestered Merlin here to keep him from the world, to hide him until he grew old enough for Uther to claim Merlin for himself. He’d never allow the golden man to have him.

Merlin had grown up knowing what Uther intended, that the King of Ulster had claimed him even before his birth due to a prophecy spoken over his pregnant mother by Cathbad, Chief Druid to Ulster’s court. Gaius had been forbidden to tell him _what_ the prophecy said but whatever Cathbad had seen, Merlin now knew that fate intended him for another.

He told Gaius his dream and described the golden man.

“Why that’s Arthur! The King’s nephew and mightiest warrior of the Red Branch!”

“Find him Gaius, bring him to me. I’m not meant for Ulster, I’m meant for Arthur.”

Sad eyes met his but held no denial.

“I will. But you must know that fate isn’t always kind and the one that follows you and Arthur may bring nothing but sorrow in its wake.”

Merlin gazed back unflinchingly.

“If such is destiny’s decree, how am I to fight it?”

* * *

**14.**

"Of all of the gods, you are the biggest son of a bitch I know," Arthur sighs, holding the bag over his head.

Gwaine scowls, trying to swipe it back. "Don't hate on my mother, Arthur, that's not very nice."

"You don't even know who your mother _is_ ," Arthur rolls his eyes, and passes the bag - an innocent-looking thing - to his other hand. Gwaine grunts his irritation as he misses. "And you of all people should know that I'm not nice."

" _I know_. Why do you think you're my arch-nemesis?" Gwaine retorts. He gives up, collapsing into a passing cloud and sending a torrent of raindrops over Manchester.

"I'm confiscating this for a week," Arthur declares, tucking the bag alongside his bow and arrows. "I'll return it to you after Valentine's Day."

"Hell no! Valentine's Day is my favourite day! I get to fluster so many girls by blowing up their skirts and seeing their underwear--"

"That is _exactly_ why you're not getting it back until _afterwards_ ," Arthur snorts. "Until then, the Cailleach will oversee the wind."

"I hate that old bat," Gwaine sulks.

"Suck it up. She plays by the rules, that's all that matters to me." Arthur makes to step off the cloud. "I'm going to shoot some suns now, before India burns to dust. I'll see you in a week."

"What am I meant to do until then?" Gwaine laments, burying his face in a puff of cloud.

Arthur sighs heavily. "I don't care, Gwaine, just stay out of trouble. And for the love of Albion, _stop raining on Manchester_. That's Nimueh's job, and I have enough on my plate as it is without having to mediate a truce between you two knuckleheads!"

And with that, much to Gwaine's anguish, the God of the Sun is gone.

*

Merlin is the messenger of Gaius, God of the Sky. He's dorky, friendly, and fiercely loyal.

He also sucks cock like an immortal who's been on Earth for more than a thousand years.

"Mother of-- fucking _hell_ , Merlin," Gwaine pants. "Where did you learn to-- _Fuck_!"

When Merlin finally pulls himself off, mouth wet, he smiles. "I've had a lot of time on my hands," he says, and lets Gwaine manhandle him onto the surface of the cloud.

"This is turning out to be the best Valentine's Day _ever_ ," Gwaine moans as Merlin sucks on his fingers. "Arthur, I've never been happier that you confiscated my wind, you motherfucking bastard."

Both men are too busy to notice the shadow looming over them.

"You may not have known your mother, but I knew mine, and _no one_ gets away with taking her name in vain.”

Gwaine yelps in surprise, leaping off Merlin and turning to face Arthur. "What the _fuck_! What is wrong with you, Arthur!"

Arthur is red with rage, but he manages to say, "I came to return your bag early," in an entirely calm voice. "Gwaine, when I told you to stay out of trouble, I didn't mean shag your way around Albion!"

"I haven't!" Gwaine protests indignantly, gesturing with wild hands at Merlin, who's relaxing against the cloud, watching the scene with an unreadable face. "I've been good, damn it. I've had nothing to do for a whole week, I was bored out of my mind! And then I bumped into Merlin, and, well--"

"I should've known," Arthur interrupts, but he's staring at Merlin now. "You have no shame, you know that?"

Merlin laughs. "I'm just a messenger, aren't I? I’m not a god. I can do whatever I want... or _whoever_ I want."

"If Gaius ever found out--"

"If he did, then all of Albion would be privy to how you like to stick your cock up my arse every now and then."

Gwaine stares disbelievingly at Arthur. "I thought you were a goddess-only kind of guy!"

"I thought that about you too," Arthur snaps. "Damn it, Merlin, you just _had_ to seduce my enemy, didn't you?"

Merlin smirks, and palms his cock back into hardness. “Hear me out, boys. By the end, I’m sure we’ll all be very satisfied, and, well... Who’s to say you have to still be enemies? I like to think of myself as a peacekeeper.”

*

They’re both deep inside of Merlin when he comes over them, crying so loud Gwaine is sure all of Albion can hear him. Arthur continues to grunt, fucking up into Merlin, against Gwaine’s cock, and a few more thrusts is all it takes for Gwaine to follow Merlin off the edge, like he’s sliding down his own wind, but even better—

It’s even better than that.

* * *

**15.**

**All around the world**

*Amazonas:*

"You prat!"

"Excuse me!?"

"You nearly shot me and you destroyed my camera!"

"I saved your life idiot!"

"I needed that film!"

"That, that thing would have eaten you-"

"mok'ele-mbembe and no, it wouldn't have." Merlin glared at the blond prat before him. "Just stay away from me."

*Loch Ness:*

"What are you doing here?"

"Happened to be around." Arthur answered with a smirk.

"Riiight."

"So what are we-"

"Not we, I, and Nessie, so be quiet."

"….."

"What?"

"Your eyes went…"

"Oh."

*Dover, Massachusetts:*

"This is better be worth it Merlin."

"I didn't ask you to come."

"Shut up."

"……."

"Merlin is that….?"

"Yeah, now give me the camera."

"Its eyes are glowing like yours."

"……."

"Don't be a girl Merlin, yours are prettier."

"……."

"……"

"You kissed me."

"Yeah so?"

"……"

*Puerto-Rico:*

"Is that a goat?"

"Yep."

"Why do you have a dead goat Merlin?"

"To lure the beast."

"I don't need a dead goat Merlin; you should know that by now."

"Prat."

"……"

"Merlin…."

"No."

"But Merlin…" Arthur whined and then huffed when his hand was slapped.

"I'm working."

"That's the problem! You are too sexy when you are working! I can't help myself!"

"……"  
&&&&&  
"Shh… You'll wake the whole village Merlin."

"Arthur fuck," Merlin gasped and arched into Arthur's touch. "Faster you prat, gods yeah."

Arthur smirked and dropped to his knees.

"Arth-" Merlin's hips bucked when Arthur's lips wrapped around him, humming in smug delight.

"Oh god, fuck, Arthur I'm-"

Arthur tightened his grip on Merlin's thighs.

"That's right baby," He cooed. "Come for me."

"Oh fuck!" Merlin's knees buckled and he crumbled in Arthur's arms.

"Err Merlin?"

"Hmm?"

"Where did the goat go?"

"Huh?" Merlin looked around.

"Oww! What was that for?"

"You prat! You distracted me!"

"Merlin?"

"Well?"

"Shut up."

"What's that?"

"My new job."

"No."

"Arthur-"

"No."

"But-"

"We talked about it Merlin! After that disaster in London with the fucking Spring- Heeled Jack-"

"Nothing happened!"

"Just by luck!"

"And my magic!"

Arthur's jaw tightened. "I'm coming with you."

*Himalayas:*

"What are we-"

"Yeti."

"Of course."

"Shut up."

"That's my line."

"Fine then, Prat. There, happy?"

"No."

"What now?"

"I'm cold."

"Arthur…"

"It's not my fault Merlin!" Arthur grumbled. "It's fucking 20 degrees below! I'm going to freeze to death!"

"No you won't."

"….."

"……"

"Merlin."

A sigh.

"Merlin."

"What?"

"Warm me." Arthur said and opened his arms.

"What?! No! I'm working!"

"Merlin…" Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin's waist.

"Warm me baby, I'm freezing without you."

Merlin shivered as he felt Arthur's warm breath ghosting along his neck.

"You don't feel like you are freezing."

"That's because I'm holding you," Arthur whispered as he trailed kisses along Merlin's neck. "Our love keeps me warm."

"Arthur…" Merlin's hands fisted in Arthur's hair and pulled his lips to his, kissing him deeply.

"Since when?" Merlin asked as Arthur's hands sneaked beneath his cloths.

"The Mothman case, you saved my ass-"

"I always save your ass." Merlin gasped when the cold tips of Arthur's fingers pinched his nipple.

"One word Merlin: Amazonas." Arthur said as he lowered Merlin to the thermo blanket on the floor.

"Three words prat: I love you too."

"That's four." Arthur chuckled as he opened their pants.

"I wish I could touch you properly." Arthur said as he lowered their pants to their ankles, aligning their hard cocks together.

"When we get home." Merlin moaned when Arthur began stroking them both.

"Fuck Merlin," Arthur groaned when the precome and Merlin's magic made everything slippery and wet and oh so glorious. "I'm going to take you."

"Here?" Merlin's question was cut off when Arthur's finger pressed in.

"Can't wait."

"Yeah, allright, yeah."

Two fingers, three fingers and then Arthur was pushing in, both men groaning at the sensation.

"Merlin, fuck Merlin." Arthur panted as he pushed in and out.

"I know, fuck Arthur, I know." Merlin moaned as Arthur's tempo increased.

"Oh god, best way to get warm ever." Arthur said as his hand wrapped around Merlin's cock.

"Prat." Merlin breathed as Arthur's strokes grew faster.

"But you still love me right?" Arthur asked as he pressed kisses all over Merlin's face.

"Fuck yeah," Merlin gasped. "Arthur I'm-" His moans were swallowed by Arthur's mouth as they both tumbled over the edge.

&&&&&  
"What is that?"

"A photo of snow Arthur."

"So these aren't eyes?"

"….."

"Did it....?"

"Watched us when…" Merlin said faintly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well fuck me." Merlin whispered.

"When we are home baby." Arthur smirked.

* * *

**16.**

The steps to reach the tallest tower were unforgiving as always, but Arthur climbed them with enthusiasm. The door to the tower room was open, a candle burning brightly in the window.

“You’re back, then?” Merlin said, not turning around from where he was puttering around his work table, his back to Arthur.

Arthur scowled. “You mean _you’re_ back. I was out patrolling as part of my kingly duties. You were consorting with the druids, which are distinctly not part of your duties.”

Merlin laughed, turning around. “But they teach me so much. Especially on how to protect _your_ life,” he said, quirking a grin. He stepped toward Arthur to begin easing off his cloak and chainmail.

Arthur sniffed contemptuously as Merlin’s fingers worked. “Learn anything useful?” he asked.

“Constellations. It’s fascinating what they can tell you,” Merlin said, sounding dreamy.

“I’m so glad to hear that you spent a month away from Camelot to learn about _stars_ ,” Arthur grumbled.

Merlin shrugged. “There was a story I heard about a star that I thought you would like. But if you’re too busy with your kingly duties tonight, I can save it for another day.”

Arthur wavered for a perilous moment, eyeing Merlin’s bed in the corner that looked extra enticing and cosy after several nights of sleeping in the woods. “All right, let’s hear it,” he said, stripping off the rest of his clothing and flopping unceremoniously onto the bed.

Merlin followed him, settling into Arthur’s arms before beginning the story. “There once was a simple cowherd looking for a place to graze his cattle. He searched far and wide before stumbling upon a lush green field. Among the grass was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. The girl was weaving a colourful bolt of cloth, and when she looked up and smiled at him, they both knew their destinies had been set.”

“Sounds like any other love story the bards tell,” Arthur said, unimpressed.

Merlin dug a sharp elbow into his side. “It gets better. The girl turned out to be the daughter of the sky goddess. When the sky goddess found out that her daughter had fallen in love with a mere mortal, she dragged the girl back up to the clouds. The cowherd’s grief was so great that he flew up to the sky to try and find her. When the sky goddess saw him in the clouds where mortals could never be, she tore the sky apart in her anger, separating them. But the magpies took pity on the couple, and every seventh day of the seventh month, they fly up to the sky to form a bridge, letting the girl and the cowherd spend one day a year together.”

Arthur frowned, feeling discomfited.

“Look. It’s the seventh night of the seventh month. They’re meeting each other tonight,” Merlin said, pointing out the window where two stars were shining brightly in the night sky. He turned to look at Arthur, smiling. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too,” Arthur said, a thing easier to admit in darkness than in light. He dragged Merlin in for a kiss, making up for a month’s absence in a moment. His fingers fumbled for the oil Merlin kept on the little table by the bed.

“I would never,” Merlin said fiercely, shuddering as he pushed back down onto Arthur’s fingers. “I would never let anyone keep you from me, gods or no gods.”

Arthur groaned, savouring the slow glide as he slid his cock into Merlin slowly. “You’d better not,” he gasped out. He held onto Merlin’s hips with one hand and took hold of Merlin’s cock with the other, stroking him eagerly.

“I would ride the dragons across the sky to you,” Merlin panted, rocking back and forth as he moved in time to Arthur’s thrusts, “and build the sky back up to reach you.” With a shout, he came messily between them.

Arthur moaned in relief as he came inside Merlin a few beats later, collapsing bonelessly onto the bed. “But what on earth did you learn from that story?” Arthur asked, once he had caught his breath.

Merlin smiled at him. “That sometimes even an impossible love can find a way to work.”

“Well,” Arthur said grudgingly, pulling Merlin closer to him, “perhaps there’s something in druid tales after all.”

* * *

**17.**

Merlin passed by Pendragon Fashion every day and every day he stopped to nod his head at Arthur. Sometimes, Merlin would get lucky and no one would be crowding the display window, no one watching Arthur in fascination. Then, Merlin would let his magic extend and Arthur would smile the slightest bit wider, his fingers would twitch just a bit to greet him, and Merlin would wiggle his fingers back at Arthur and murmur that he'd see him later.

He wasn't lucky this morning. There were five teenagers surrounding the storefront and talking animatedly. He stopped to watch Arthur for a few moments and overheard them.

"Everyone is crazy. He's clearly a mannequin. No one looks that perfect," claimed one of the boys.

"But look at his hands! The scar above his eyebrow!" exclaimed one of the girls.

"He is rather detailed," the other girl said.

"It's a mannequin! Not a corpse," the first boy replied.

"I don't know, my aunt used to work there and she said that she swears he moves. She had to change his clothes every week and apparently _everything_ is detailed," another boy said.

"You mean he actually has a cock?" the third boy chimed in, "that's hilarious. Your aunt probably quit because it turned her on!"

Merlin shared a smile with Arthur and mouthed 'tonight' at him before he walked away.

"He just moved! Look!" the first girl yelled before Merlin walked out of earshot.

****

Merlin's hands shook with nervous energy as he was unlocking the door. Tonight was the night he could see Arthur again. The magic only worked on the biggest Sabbaths and this was Lithia, the summer solstice.

He finally unlocked the door and walked into the store. He headed over to the display and pushed a button for the blackout curtains to descend and then opened the display door. Arthur was still standing as he'd last left him.

It had been, lucky, really. Arthur's death had been sudden and unexpected, but the timing couldn't have been better. It had been Samhain and Merlin had been able to work his magic and cast a spell that would give him Arthur back. Not permanently, never permanently, but Merlin would take what he could get. Uther had accepted the gift of a mannequin cast in Arthur's perfect likeness with ease; he'd put Arthur in the storefront window with a sign that proudly proclaimed that the window was a remembrance of Arthur. The rumors had started soon after.

Merlin walked up the steps and stood in front of Arthur. His face was still perfect, Arthur hadn't aged but a few days while Merlin had aged years and now had wrinkles around his eyes. Merlin sighed with resignation; he knew that this couldn't go on for much longer. He'd have to let Arthur go eventually and give him the peace he so deserved.

Tonight was not that night. Merlin stepped forward and cupped Arthur's cheek, he leaned down and kissed Arthur's lips, and felt his magic flow out of him. Arthur's cold skin grew warm and Merlin felt Arthur's body relax. Arthur's hands wrapped around his waist and Merlin was pushed back against the curtains.

"Welcome back," Merlin said when Arthur stopped for a breath, "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too. If I could," Arthur started to say, but Merlin shushed him and kissed him again. Arthur responded eagerly, it had been too long since they'd had this.

They were desperate and quick, hands pulling at clothes and nearly tearing them off in their determination to touch naked skin. Merlin pushed his hand inside Arthur's shorts and stroked his hard cock.

He savored in the hard length in his palm and how it was warm with the blood pulsing through it. The thought of Arthur standing here cold and lifeless again made him pause briefly before he pushed Arthur's shorts down.

"Take me, I'm ready," Merlin said. Merlin was never patient enough to wait for foreplay the first time and always came prepared.

Merlin closed his eyes and gripped onto the curtains as Arthur pushed inside him. Arthur pulled on his cock in time with his thrusts and Merlin came so quickly he would have been embarrassed if Arthur hadn't come moments later.

One last kiss and they sank to the floor. Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin and they clung together. Neither of them spoke, they lay in silence trying to stretch the moment. He hadn't meant to sleep, but Merlin woke up cold as dawn approached. Merlin smiled sadly at Arthur's motionless form and morosely redressed Arthur and reset the storefront.

* * *

**18.**

Once upon a time, there was a great king whose heart had gone hard. He blamed all magic users for the death of his beautiful wife; any time a sorcerer was brought before him, they were quickly sent to the headsman’s block.

One fateful day, the mother of the sorcerer who had just been killed came forth and cast a great curse upon the king. She would take from him what had been taken from her, but in the most cruel way possible.

"You will see your son sicken and die before your eyes, and you will be powerless to prevent it. Then you will know the tragedy of burying a child."

Enraged, the king called for his guards, but it was too late. The witch vanished in a cloud of smoke, leaving only the legacy of her curse behind.

~*~

Soon after, as promised, the king's son began to sicken. Every night he seemed to vanish into thin air, only to return come morning, tired, pale of face, and walking with a most unusual gait.

Perplexed, the king called upon every healer in the land, but none could solve the riddle of the prince's illness. So the king made it known to all, that any person who could discover the secret of the witch's curse, would be given anything their heart desired. But whoever tried and did not succeed, would be put to death themselves.

Very soon a knight named Valiant came along, who greatly desired fame and fortune. He was tall, broad of shoulder, and very well liked amongst the ladies. He was given a room beside the prince's so that he might be able to sit and watch what happened each night, but as soon as the clock tolled midnight a magical haze fell around him until he fell fast asleep, oblivious to all the prince did.

After two more nights of the same, the king ordered his head cut off.

Despite the knight's failure, others came, and soon they all faced the headsman's axe.

~*~

Now it happened that not long after the witch’s curse, a young boy named Merlin wandered into Camelot. Though a farm boy, he had magic, and as he continued to hear stories of the prince, he found himself growing more and more intrigued.

One night, as he lay awake thinking of the beautiful prince, a great summons echoed in his head.

"Merlin,” the voice called, and when he followed it he found himself facing a mighty dragon. It spoke of destiny and then it blew a warm breath upon his brow and told him that he would be immune from the witch's curse. “Go to the king and tell him that you will do what none have succeeded in before,” it instructed, “and when the time comes, you alone will be able to give the prince what he needs.”

So saying, the beast flapped its mighty wings and flew away.

~*~

That night, Merlin stood guard beside the prince’s room, and when the clock tolled and the mist rolled in, he remained unaffected. He followed the prince, who he had begun to think of as Arthur, until he came upon a glade in which there gathered a great many of the fairy folk, fair of skin and sporting impressive erections all. Arthur lay down upon the ground and moaned as a harlot, until one of the fairies took pity upon him.

Just as the fairy was about to breach the bespelled prince, Merlin’s magic responded by instinct. Arthur was his. The fairies were forced away as if some magical storm brewed within the glade, and when none remained, he stalked forward.

“You are free,” said he, as he knelt and looked into the Arthur’s eyes, which were wide and overjoyed at the words. He hesitated, “I will not take from you anything you do not wish to give.”

But Arthur was so overwhelmed in his pleasure, so grateful, he could do nothing but nod eagerly and spread his legs wider in response.

It was only a moment for Merlin to divest himself of his clothes. He pressed close to where Arthur’s body was ripe from the spell, and then joined with him as the dragon had foretold.

~*~

The next morning, the king called for Merlin who told of his breaking of the curse, if not exactly how. The king was so overjoyed that he hadn’t the heart to refuse Merlin’s request to stand beside Arthur’s as his consort.

* * *

**19.**

The air is hot and so thick it's hard to breathe. Sweat slides down Merlin's back and makes his shirt stick to his skin. He hasn't been to Egypt and he's unused to this kind of heat. As the taxi Merlin and Arthur take from the airport weaves in and out of traffic, a feeling of unease grows in Merlin until it sits like an uncomfortable stone in the pit of his stomach. Nothing he looks at seems _right_ but just being there feels ... familiar, somehow.

When Arthur decides to have a kip when at their room, Merlin feels too off to try and sleep. He goes to the hotel coffee shop and sits at a small table. Frowning as he looks out the window, he's trying to figure out what's bothering him when someone sits down at his table uninvited.

The man is in a clean white linen suit. He's wearing an odd hat with feathers, and he has a long, neat beard that comes to a point.

And his skin is shimmering _green_.

Surprised, Merlin glances around; no one pays them any mind or notices this unusual man.

"Hello, Emrys," he says. "They can't see me."

"Osiris," Merlin greets as the name pops into his head out of nowhere.

Osiris smiles wanly. "I felt it as soon as you arrived, but I was not expecting you yet."

"Arthur is on a business trip," Merlin tells him, still unsure as to why he's not more worried about sitting across from a _god_. Or that he even _knows_ who Osiris is, feeling like they've been acquainted once. "I accompanied him because ..." He's about to say _I've never been_ and that's why he'd felt so drawn. Suddenly that doesn't seem like the right answer.

"Because this place called to you?" Osiris suggests. "I think it always has. Always will."

Merlin thinks, _No, it can't be time yet._

"You can't take me from him," Merlin says fiercely. "I won't let you."

"You never have. There is a destiny to be fulfilled," Osiris says with a bright smile, which isn't all that comforting coming from a god of death and forever. "I will not take either of you until it comes to pass. Nor will any others."

"Aren't we to end in Avalon?" Merlin still doesn't know where these thoughts come from, they're just popping to mind and it feels right deep down to his bones. He even knows that they've even been to Avalon for a spell before ripped right back out.

"The afterlife is the afterlife, no matter its name," Osiris says. "I'm not sure yet who'll be your guide to your final peace. But, please, hold no fear while you are here now."

Merlin nods and sips his coffee. He's distracted for a moment, a flutter of something outside the window. When he turns back to the chair across from him, it's empty.

Of course it's empty. Arthur is upstairs. Who else would be there?

When Merlin goes to Arthur, Arthur is stirring in bed and mumbles hello. Merlin pounces on him, kissing him with a fever that could match the heat outside. He's all hands and mouth, desperately touching and kissing everywhere he can. Arthur goes with it, sensing Merlin's mood, giving Merlin exactly what he needs.

Merlin goes down on Arthur greedily, sucking on his cock as he rolls Arthur's balls gently in his hand. After this long, he knows exactly how to drive Arthur wild, having him panting and gripping at Merlin's hair, fucking up into his mouth. It's not long before he's coming down Merlin's throat, and Merlin swallows it all, loving the familiar salty tang.

Merlin kisses Arthur again, and together their hands work on stroking Merlin's cock, already so hard from the enthusiastic blow job. Merlin comes, possessively biting Arthur's shoulder, shooting all over Arthur's stomach. He reaches down, spreading it around as if he's marking Arthur as his, and only his. Arthur makes a face, but laughs and lets Merlin get away with it.

"You know," Arthur murmurs as they catch their breath, "I feel like I've been here before."

"Me too," Merlin says, "but neither of us have, right?"

"Right," Arthur agrees.

They curl up together to sleep, limbs clinging and hands gripping, as if afraid to let each other go. When Merlin wakes, he feels much better than when they first landed in this country, all worry vanished from his mind. He's looking forward to his time here.

* * *

**20.**

**Stuff of Legend**

Even years after the event, I had to question why I had allowed myself to be talked into such madness.

Sir Percival was famed for leveling a forest singlehandedly, taming beasts twice the size of normal men, defending villages with his might alone, creating rivers with a single stroke of the sword. He was the man everyone wanted to be. And yet when our little group, no more than four if memory serves, approached him at the inn the man, a giant just like in all the tales, seemed completely unawares that his person held so much awe. In fact, he didn’t recall any of the incidences we recounted.

His disbelief grew with the stories, probably due to the drinks in him as he’d seemed a stone with no expression before them. He hadn’t been alone then, accompanied by another man who had since gone to secure their room.

Eventually, we had somehow explained, in a roundabout way, why we were there. And Sir Percival brushed us off. The night had seemed lost, but now…I don’t remember how it happened, but somehow we’d convinced him to stay and gotten his breeches open to the air.

We’d long believed, if we could just touch him, be allowed to give him pleasure and the like, we might take on some of his strength, or at the very least be able to boast about the deed.

He wasn’t so convinced, but his face loosened under John’s tongue. Our man eventually got himself seated on the knight’s cock, though it looked painful from our view. He was thick as a birch; many of us saw we would only be able to use our mouths.

John’s squirming was doing nothing but annoying him. In fact, he’d raised his hands to remove him when a laugh came from the stairs. Everyone froze as Percival’s companion stepped from the shadows, a manic grin on his face.

In an instant he’d strode over and nudged John away. Our compatriot moved with a decided limp. “Mate, that is not the way to take a cock like this. You’ve obviously not done it before.”

“Gwaine.” I shuddered at the warning rumble. There was even a stir in my own breeches.

Gwaine ignored him and pulled an unlit lamp across the table, prying it open and dumping it in Percival’s lap before the large knight could do anything more. “First off, you need oil, lots of oil. Spit just won’t cut it on a monster like Percy here.”

Percival growled at him, staring down at his sodden breeches and back up with a definite loathing. But it turned to thinly veiled shock as Gwaine stripped his own breeches, lined up Percival’s massive meat, and sank onto it, like it was nothing. A titter ran through the others, my own mouth gaping.

Gwaine gave a toothy grin and braced his feet wide to move slowly. Percival groaned and rested his face between Gwaine’s shoulder blades. Gwaine, for his part, ignored him as he stroked his own cock. A few in the group were even eying him now. But I only cared for myself at the moment as my hand had found its way into my breeches.

Gwaine saw me and jerked his head. I stared a moment before he snapped, “Well, come on. He won’t last all day.”

I scrambled forward and dropped to my knees at a look. He let go of his cock long enough to reach below himself and ripped Percival’s breeches. Percival cursed and muttered, “You are a dead man, Gwaine.”

Again Gwaine ignored him and grinned at me. “Go on then.”

Breath coming in short spurts, I leaned forward and licked across the exposed sac. A gentle mumble and shift downwards encouraged me to do more. Unfortunately I couldn’t fit both balls in my mouth but I paid equal attention to them, rolling them with my tongue. I was nearly distracted enough to not notice Percival’s cock driving into Gwaine just above my head.

I was forced back a few moments later as Percival stiffened and his balls seized. My hand pressed firmly down on my own cock as some of Gwaine’s fluid hit my face. The knight smirked down at me and reached to smear it over my face and onto my mouth. “Aren’t you a pretty one?”

With a small groan he rose and sank to the floor beside me, reaching for my breeches. “Don’t worry. He’ll be ready again in a few minutes.”

* * *

**21.**

"Tell me the secret of my birth," Arthur says, standing on the bank while the moon rises and the water rushes. The river speaks more than his father ever has, and truer, because water can never hold a lie; it moves as they say his mother once moved, quicksilver-bright, ever at home in the moonlight.

"Tell me the secret of my birth," he repeats. Two times asked, two chances to repent. The third will come with no such reprieve, and since Arthur needs none, he wastes no more time. He asks, and the water answers. His body changes.

Arthur slips into the river for the first time as himself: snake-man, serpent-prince, whole.

*

By day there are knights to oversee, council meetings to endure, and his father’s every wish to uphold.

By night, there is freedom.

*

A cottage lies upriver, small, ramshackle, but somehow all the more charming for it. Arthur enters it silently, his snake-body leaving long, winding tracks of river mud on the wooden floor. A man sleeps at the table, head dipped low over a book, the wild, dark mess of his hair perilously close to a candle flame. Arthur sighs and slithers up the table, snuffing the candle with a brief, painful flicker of his tongue. He watches the man for a time, the fascinating angles of his face in the moonlight, all lines and curves and deep, tempting shadows.

Arthur flickers his tongue once more, touching it to a furrowed line between the man’s brows, then leaves as silently as he had come.

*

The man is asleep in bed the second evening, his shoulders and back bare to the room. Arthur rests his muddy head on the linens and considers the man’s smell, all green herbs and skin-musk, alive in a way that nothing is within the stone walls of the castle.

This man is earth, where Arthur is water. That seems perfect; that seems right.

This man lives by day, where Arthur is only truly alive at night. That is wrong.

 

*

Arthur enters the house a third night, knowing as he does that the action is binding, a seal.

The scene has changed.

The man is awake, sitting calmly on the side of the bed, bare feet on the floor. There are four bowls on the floor in the corners of the room; two of sugar, two of milk. The room writhes with snakes.

The man is either very brave, or very stupid. Arthur says this aloud, with no thought that his sibilance will be understood. But the man grins at him, wide and open, and says, "I'll take the former, thanks." He walks to the door, ankles brushing against twisting, muscular bodies without a care, and says, "The prince has arrived; it is time for you to leave."

And they do, to the last.

"My name is Merlin, and three things I have to offer you by night," the man says. "Food, should you need to eat. Conversation, should you care to talk. A door, should you wish to leave."

Merlin's bottom lip looks sweeter to taste than any sugar or milk, and the door, open now to the night, has a latch that Arthur could work with his hand by day. As does every door in his father's castle, should a prince be ready to stand against his king's wrath on the other side.

Arthur imagines the sun on Merlin's skin, and thinks, perhaps, that he is.

Arthur coils around himself slowly, comfortably. "How is it you understand me, and command my kin?"

"Oh," Merlin says. "There is a secret to every birth."

*

By the early rays of morning light, Arthur takes his first taste of Merlin’s lips, rolling their bodies flush together. He licks, then bites down softly; when Merlin says, “Toothy when you’re like this too, aren’t you?” Arthur nips harder, pulling Merlin’s lip between his own.

This time, Merlin can only groan. Arthur finds he likes it.

Arthur wants to savour every bit of Merlin, so he does, mouthing his way down Merlin’s body, skin flushing warm under his tongue, scent heady to his nose. Reaching Merlin’s cock causes his own to swell, and he rubs Merlin’s tip with his lips, then flicks it delicately with his tongue, over and over until Merlin buries his hands in Arthur’s hair.

The first time Arthur comes, it’s with his cock grinding against the bed while he takes Merlin in his mouth as deeply as he can. The second time it’s with his hand around he and Merlin both, pulling and pulling, as he bites down on Merlin’s shoulder hard enough to raise a bruise.

He comes a third time in Merlin's arms, in Merlin's bed, and that is how it will be ever after.


	5. Part B (clean)

**22.**

“You were made for me.”

“You _ruined_ me.”

“You saved me.”

*

“It will not be undone.” Arthur’s voice is flat, but Merlin can hear the anger underneath it. He attempts a smile.

“You know better than any how temperamental the gods are,” he says.

Arthur’s eyes are fiery.

“They would kill you for my insolence?”

“ _Our_ insolence, Arthur, you know it.”

Arthur scowls, and Merlin’s eyes slip closed.

“I saw it,” he says quietly. He can see it still. “I had a dream. I saw them meet, I saw them decide the just punishment, I saw them argue our fate. This is chosen as punishment for you as much as me.”

“I am _sick_ of dreams,” Arthur spits out. He turns on his heel and leaves.

*

“You will not be forgotten,” Arthur says.

Six days have made Merlin weak, he can barely sit straight, and his lungs rattle and heave with every breath.

“I will see to it. No person shall ever forget your name, or the things we’ve done together.”

Merlin wants to laugh, but he can’t squeeze it out past the tightness in his chest.

*

He wants to scream and rage, he wants to curse the gods for his very creation, he wants to curse the one who brought him here, who took him away from the content simplicity of his former life, only to bring him here to this aching, bloodless, inglorious death.

But he can’t, not when they gave him Arthur, beautiful, fearless Arthur. Arthur who laughs so freely and loves him so fiercely.

He can regret anything but that.

*

“Please, Arthur, please.”

Merlin kisses him softly, then harder. It takes all his strength to pull Arthur into him, to lick open his lips, to thumb away his tears.

Arthur kisses him back.

*

Arthur’s thrusts are slow, measured.

Torturous.

“Do you remember,” he breathes into Merlin’s ear. “The day we met? The day we fought?”

Merlin can’t speak, he bites his lip, clinging to Arthur’s shoulders, and nods. All sensations of pain, of sickness, of tiredness have fallen away, all he can feel is Arthur, around and inside him, hot and big and _there_.

“And then you knelt before me and pledged your loyalty,” Arthur whispers, licking the shell of his ear. “I have loved you from that moment to this, and to the burning of the world.”

Arthur bites at his neck, twisting his hips, and Merlin cries out.

*

The next day Merlin is worse.

*

He’s alone, in the dark emptiness, and then he’s not. The images change and twist and flutter, first a man, then lion, then an eagle, there’s a sharpness at his wrists and he’s bound, he’s being dragged down, down endlessly, he struggles and fights and he can’t escape and he’s in Hell and he can see them, clad in feathers and dust, crowns laid in an inelegant pile at their feet, their faces hard, priests and kings and gods, and in the centre sits a woman, a queen and they are all turned towards her and it’s cold and burning and airless and he can’t move and there’s another woman kneeling before her reading from a stone tablet the queen turns and looks him straight in the eyes she stares and he can’t move or breathe and she opens her mouth and --

Merlin shudders awake, gasping. Arthur’s arm tightens around him as he sobs.

*

Merlin’s body is cold the next morning.

Arthur’s grief burns hot.

* * *

**23.**

"Bloody Mary --- _Bloody Mary_ \--- **_Bloody Mary_** ”

~~~

A malevolent scream rips through her lungs and fills the chill night air as she is reborn into existence. Summoned to kill those with the blood of the innocent on their hands, vengeance is hers to find, hers to deliver for those unable to tear through the veil and do it themselves.

This time and place is overflowing with hands stained a deep crimson, dripping with the screams of those lost. She slinks through the shadows, crawling out of any reflective surface to drag the guilty to the gates of Hell. Hundreds are avenged at her hand, but it’s not enough. Never enough to satisfy her hunger for revenge. She needs more. She needs--

A King.

~~~

Gliding through the castle is childsplay, the extravagant decor and excessive mirrors make it too easy to slide through the halls and into the King’s chambers. The stench of guilt hangs heavy in the air, making her sick with disgust and shiver with the anticipation of vengeance. She slips into the mirror over the washbasin and patiently waits for her prey.

Moments later, King Arthur and his Court Sorcerer burst through the door, waiting until it’s shut and locked behind them before exchanging hurried exclamations.

“Mercia is yours Arthur!” Merlin all but shouts and shoves the King back into the wall, gripping his armor and pulling him forward for a joyous kiss. A kiss of victory that was paid for by fallen sons, daughters, mothers, and fathers.

The King responds quickly, pressing forward into the warm body that’s currently trying to wrap itself around him. He peppers kisses over Merlin’s brow, across his cheeks and down his neck. “Because of you. Because of you.” Arthur repeats like a mantra into the divot of his shoulder.

He nudges Merlin to the edge of their bed and gently shoves him down, pinning his hands above his head and pushing his legs apart. “Clothes.” Arthur says as a command and then grins as Merlin’s eyes flare and nothing remains between them.

She watches in sick curiosity at their happiness, trembling with joy that she will be the one to take it from them. She will wait until they’re riddled with pleasure and satisfaction before stealing it all away.

The King pushes two fingers inside Merlin’s slicked hole, keening in pleasure at the tight heat he finds. He wastes no time in preparing his lover, taking him to the very edge of his breaking point; until Merlin is writhing underneath him, cock bobbing angrily between them.

“Arthur, _please_.” the warlock begs and pulls his legs up further, wantonly putting himself on display for his King.

Arthur gives in, bracing his hands on Merlin’s shoulders; gently pushing past the tight ring of muscle. She takes in the way they both quiver, how their muscles ripple in pure desire as they constrain the need to move; to fuck.

Eventually Arthur gives in and thrusts with abandon, grabbing Merlin’s cock and stroking in time with the piston of his hips. Neither of them last long; Merlin screams Arthur’s name as he paints their stomachs with the proof of his release and Arthur moans into the crook of his neck as he comes deep inside him.

They collapse on the bed together in a tangled pile of sweat and come. The King takes his sorcerer in his arms and pulls him tightly to his chest. It’s not long until she hears their breath even out and their chests rise and fall in a steady rhythm.

Calling upon the ancient curse that binds her to this world, she summons the power to break free from her bindings. One hand grips the edge of the mirror, then the other, and she pulls herself through the barrier and sprawls onto the floor. Bones disjoint and twist unnaturally as she crawls across the cold stone and up onto the bed, leaving a trail of blood in her wake. She sits and stares at the huddled lovers, taking a moment to savor the justice of the judgement she’s about to deliver.

She studies the sorcerer closely, so burdened by the choices he’s made to stay by his King’s side. His regret hangs heavy in the air, so thick she can taste the heady scent on her tongue.

It’s time.

She’s leaning in close to deliver the promised retribution, the blood of their victims dripping from her hair and skin, when the sorcerer’s eyes snap open and blaze a furious gold.

* * *

**24.**

**Oliver’s Ferry, 1834**

Merlin reined in his horse at the small shanty on the shores of the Rideau River. Night had fallen on his journey down the small, dirt road which cut through the wilderness of Upper Canada between Brockville and Perth.

“Who’s there?” a gruff voice called out.

“Merlin. Are you the ferry master?” He replied, watching as the man came closer into view.

“That’s me,” The man grinned. “But the ferry’s closed.”

“Please, sir, I’m heading to Perth,” Merlin explained, thinking of how sour Arthur would be if Merlin was a day later then his letter had said.

“It’s dangerous out here when it gets dark,” the ferry master said. “Come rest and dine at my place. First light, I’ll see you across the river.”

At the promise of food, Merlin’s stomach growled. He was still miles from Perth and he was already trying not to fall asleep on his horse.

“I guess that would be okay.”

“Excellent, call me Oliver.”

**Rideau Ferry, 1976**

As a high school dropout and slight alcoholic, Gwaine lived paycheck to paycheck doing odd construction jobs all over Eastern Ontario. They were always the same. The sun strokes, the pelting rains, the cold mornings, and the freak thunderstorms; Gwaine hated them all.

The only good thing about the job was Percival.

“Fuck, yeah, that’s it,” Gwaine groaned as Percival rammed into him. He was pumping his hips with brutal force. They were on break, hiding in the wooden house that was supposed to be demolished later that day. There was only a few minutes before another worker would come looking for them.

“Come on!” Gwaine edged on, stroking his cock hard and fast, desperate for release.

With a final grunt, Gwaine came, splattering the wall in front of him. Percival followed quickly.

“Mmmm, there is something to be said for quickies,” Gwaine grinned, leaning against the wall with his pants around his ankles and his shirt tucked up around his armpits.

“You should cover up before someone sees us,” Percival said, zipping up his pants. “People would hate it if they knew we were together.”

“Why, because you’re from Perth and I’m from Smiths Falls?” Gwaine laughed.

“Don’t pretend to be stupid,” Percival frowned.

“Perth, Perth, Get off the Earth, And let the green grass grow!” Gwaine chanted, marching on the spot. His foot went through the floorboard.

“Are you okay?” Percival asked, rushing over. With a groan, the floorboards gave way and the two fell into the crawlspace beneath the old house.

Gwaine felt his breathe leave him a second time, as he came face-to-face with a human skull.

**Oliver’s Ferry, 1834**

Merlin had never shown up. Despite his letters promising many carnal pleasures and despite Arthur waiting, in the nude, for the dimwit to arrive, Merlin had never made it to Perth.

Arthur was now desperate to find him.

Between Perth and Brockville much of the land was useless. Thin soil, acres of bogs and swampland, and deep lakes made for poor settlement. Oliver’s Ferry was the closest village.

“You looking to go back across the ferry across the river?” Oliver, the ferry master, asked as he saw  
Arthur approaching

“No, I’m looking for a man. Tall, skinny, dark hair, big ears?”

“Oh, big ears you say? Funny name? Merlin or something?”

“Yes.”

“I took him across the ferry, just as he asked. Did he not make it to Perth?”

“No.”

“Well, I pray the high way robbers didn’t get him. You can never tell who’s dangerous travelling these roads.”

**Rideau Ferry, 2012**

Merlin was quite happy to be on his knees, cock in his mouth, bobbing up and down as Arthur moaned above him.

“Did you know Rideau Ferry used to be called Oliver’s Ferry?” Arthur asked. Merlin ignored him and sucked on the head. Now really wasn’t the time for random trivia.

“Apparently the ferry-person killed people, bunch of skeletons were found,” Arthur moaned. “Weird to think, all those people dying in our little village. I mean, our LCBO is only a shelf in the General store. Why’d you stop?”

“Is this really the time?” Merlin demanded. “Let me finish blowing you before talking about skeletons and stuff. Okay?”

“Just ... have you been on a ferry?” Arthur asked.

“No?”

“Good, had a weird dream,” Arthur muttered. “You can get back to blowing me now.”  
Merlin would have complained about Arthur acting weird, but really ... he was more than happy to get back to the task at hand.

* * *

**25.**

Arthur watches Merlin roll his hips into the cool waters. The man of magic wears only the small token Arthur left at his bedside earlier that morning. The blue faerie necklace with his mother's sigil matches Merlin's eyes and glimmers off his skin.

Love finally was found.

Arthur does his best to stay still.

The faerie magic concealing his body from his enemies at court was for all the senses, but somehow Merlin always knew he was there. Always called him out for watching him.

Morgana never knew, when Arthur exacted his small revenge for her plots to destroy him, Gwen never knew when Arthur saw her betrayal with the young court musician, but somehow Merlin saw through the shimmer of this faerie protection. Even now while wading in the pools Arthur knows Merlin senses another presence.

"This is beautiful my Imp of the Night." Merlin splashes a little into the water, careful not to get the lightly bejeweled piece around his neck wet. "I shall wear it always."

Arthur licks out tentatively to the air, tasting what he can of Merlin's body in it. The Imp Prince, as he is now called, rests his palm over the lengthening desires between his legs.

How many nights has he pleasured himself while wanting this enchanted man? How many nights has Merlin know what Arthur was doing and joined him?

Merlin arches his back down into the water and wets his hair before turning and rising enough so he is barely hip deep facing away from the prince. The water beads and slips down the lower part of Merlin's back before pooling at the slight dip and trailing a path between a place Arthur dreams of licking every night since coming to Avalon.

Arthur lets part of his invisibility fade, the part of this gift that lets him be heard. "Sometimes I don't think I'll ever understand you." Because how can this man of magic not know what he does to his "Imp of the Night"?

"Haven't fathomed me out?" Merlin turns back around pouting. There's a pucker to his wet lips that makes Arthur whimper at thoughts of what those lips should be doing. "I thought I was being obvious. I'm trying to tease you. I want you to show me who you really are. A demon? A child of Oberon? Why won't you let me see your face?"

The consequence of revealing himself is losing the power to hide. It's better that his enemies can't find him. More importantly now that he knows he loves Merlin, physically revealing himself puts Merlin in danger. He's being selfish enough in staying at all.

The man of magic starts to leisurely fondle himself in this pool of Avalon. A low tree provides some shade, but the sun's rays add a sheen to his ivory skin. Arthur pulls harder at himself, not bothering to stifle his moans.

"If you are a demon in these lands, you will be punished. Do you want me to punish you?" Merlin fists himself, obviously thinking of a punishment worthy of the imp he has lived with for almost a year. He moves to the edge of the water so Arthur can watch every detail of his hand gliding seamlessly over the tip and back down the thick veined shaft.

Merlin whispers, "Touch me."

_"No, I am not demon nor fairy,"  
"I am Unhappy Lover,"  
"Who does not dare to appear in your eyes;"  
"Feel sorry for my destiny..."_

Merlin laughs at him while still teasing drops of arousal from his cock. "I am your destiny. Avalon only permits the fated."

Arthur doesn't believe him. The man though beautiful and hauntingly sexy has proven to be an idiot in a great many things. This must be another of them. Arthur has no army to defeat Mordred and only the fairy's invisibility allowed him to defeat Morgana.

Arthur's hand already still from his thoughts of regret, trembles as another set of fingers intwine with his own.

"You are forgetting, my young Imp Prince. I have faith in you. And... I have my own magic to see your true heart. I only need for you to see what I already do then show me what fate has in store. Arthur, let me see you."

* * *

**26.**

Note to self: don't fall down wells.

Apparently, bottoms of wells did not, as Merlin expected, contain water. They contained beautiful countrysides with pleasant breezes and the soft warmth of the sun.

They apparently also contained some sort of BDSM aficionados, because on his way down the winding road, he found a hot guy tied up, naked, with his erection straining against his belly.

"Please," the guy said, "Please, I need to come. Please make me come."

Maybe that should be, note to self: fall down ALL the wells.

Who was Merlin to refuse a request like that? He spat into his hand real quick and then began pumping the man's cock. Took only a few strokes to get him off -- Merlin figured he'd been left wanting for a while.

"Should I untie you?" he asked, then began licking the come from his fingers. The man shook his head, so Merlin shrugged and walked on.

Just a few minutes later, he came across a woman who was tied against a wide pole. She seemed to have slightly more clothes than the man he'd encountered, except that her ass was left completely exposed. Next to the pole lay a paddle.

"Please, sir," she said, "Please punish me."

Let nobody say that Merlin wasn't a good Samaritan. He took up that paddle and spanked her good, until she broke down sobbing.

"Want me to untie you?" he asked, and she shook her head. Merlin walked on.

To be honest, after that build up, Merlin kind of expected to find a dungeon or something at the end of the road. Instead, it was just a simple country cottage, with some blond guy tanning himself out on the front lawn.

When he approached, the blond guy lifted his shades and sat up. "You look like you need a... job."

That sounded like a euphemism. Merlin hoped it was a euphemism. Because Merlin actually did quite need a wank right now, and had only put it off in fear of the sun going down before he found some place to sleep.

"Yeah, I really do," Merlin replied, hoping the blond guy would pick up on the subtle "hey hey I'm really horny let's fuck" vibes.

The blond guy jumped up and clapped his hands once. "Great! I need you to make my bed and fluff my pillows. They've been sitting unfluffed for _ages_ , it's really getting to me."

That... did not go how Merlin expected. He frowned, and tried to protest, but somehow he got roped into being the prat's -- Arthur's -- manservant. And every day he fluffed pillows, beating them against balcony and watching an endless amount of feathers fly uselessly to the ground. How the pillows still had any feathers in them was a mystery.

Then one day, as he was fluffing, Arthur came up behind him and tied his hands to the balcony railings. It happened so fast that Merlin didn't have time to protest.

"You've worked so hard, I've decided to reward you," Arthur whispered into his ear. Oh. Ohhh. Yes please.

Arthur pulled Merlin's trousers and pants down and began palming at his ass. "Spread your legs," he ordered, but didn't even wait to press a lubed finger against Merlin's hole. Merlin pressed his forehead against the railing and tried not to moan when the finger breached him.

Arthur was good. He knew how to draw it out, he knew just when to curl his fingers and when to brush his knuckles against Merlin's balls. It was the best fingering of Merlin's life, so that when Arthur pulled his fingers away completely, Merlin actually keened.

Those fingers were soon replaced by something better: Arthur's thick cock, pounding into him. Arthur reached around and began stroking him, rubbing his thumb over the slit, tugging on the foreskin.

"Lance and Gwen said you were good," Arthur said, and Merlin had no idea who they were but damn he was glad they gave him sparkling references if this was the reward. Heck, all the hard work the past few days was worth it just for this.

He couldn't stop himself from screaming when his orgasm ripped out of him, more intense than he'd experienced in a long time. Come shot out through the balcony railing, probably landing wherever those millions of feathers always did.

Just that morning he'd considered going home and telling his step-mother and step-sister about his adventures. But fuck that, Morgause and Morgana didn't deserve to know about this.

Maybe he wouldn't even leave.

* * *

**27.**

Sweat dripped down Merlin’s face. The land was hard, and the proprietor was watching, so he had to till it all with only the force of his muscles.

It was a dirty job that only paid in mouldy bread, but it was better than starving, and Merlin rejoiced in the little things.

As he lay under an apple tree fantasising about the fruit it would eventually bear, he swept his fingers across the sky, drawing a brilliant rainbow to keep him cheerful and to help him ignore the rumbling of his belly.

***

“It’s like magic,” said a man off to Merlin’s left.

Merlin sat up abruptly, whipping his head around to look at the intruder. The man was looking up at the sky in wonder, not a hint of malice on his face. Merlin took a chance and patted the ground beside him, saying, “Is it, now?”

The man, who introduced himself as Arthur, grinned and sat beside Merlin, unpacking a seemingly bottomless satchel and handing Merlin a generous helping of ham and cheese.

They chewed more than spoke and lay down to sleep easily, as if they had always set up camp together.

Sensing Arthur’s body mere inches away that night, his belly full, Merlin thought he’d found heaven.

***

Heaven, it turned out, was subjective.

After some time, midnight rainbows and an endless food supply became heated skin and desperate passion.

As Merlin was painting the sky, Arthur climbed on top of him and pressed his tongue past Merlin’s lips, pushing into his mouth and staying there. Only when Merlin’s hands were clutching Arthur’s shoulders and his hips were rocking up into Arthur’s did he pull back and press a series of gentle kisses to Merlin’s lips.

His wet mouth against Merlin’s ear, Arthur whispered, “Can I fuck you?” and Merlin may have said, “God, yes,” or he may have merely ground his cock against Arthur’s, willing him to feel the way Merlin wanted him.

Whichever it was, Arthur ended up kneeling between Merlin’s legs, his arse up in the air. He licked sloppily along Merlin’s cock, kissing him from root to tip before he pulled the head into his mouth and sucked.

As Arthur worked his mouth over his prick, Merlin thanked every star in the colourful sky for this beautiful dream.

***

Every day at dawn when Merlin set off to tend the farm, Arthur would whisper against Merlin’s brow, “I’ll come back if I can.”

***

It wasn’t a dream. His own tongue pressing against Arthur’s hole weeks later was evidence of that.

Arthur rocked back against Merlin’s face, groaning his pleasure, begging for Merlin’s cock, and Merlin gave it to him.

He pressed in and leaned forward, sinking his teeth into Arthur’s shoulder and revelling in the perfection of Arthur’s moans.

“Fuck you like this always,” Merlin said, and Arthur grasped his hand, squeezed his fingers as his arse squeezed his cock.

“Love your body,” Merlin grunted. “Love your beautiful fucking body.”

He pulled out and pushed Arthur onto his back, wanting to see his face, to watch his chest rise and fall and his mouth fall open in pleasure.

Merlin watched his cock press inside Arthur’s body, leaned forward and kissed Arthur deeply. He ran a thumb across Arthur’s brow, trying to push the excess of his affection into Arthur’s skin.

He wrapped his fingers around Arthur’s prick and tugged, needing Arthur to come for him. He said as much, telling Arthur how much he loved to watch him.

Merlin raised up onto an elbow, one hand still working Arthur’s cock. Arthur’s fingers tightened around Merlin’s biceps, and Merlin watched his face as he came, lips parted, head tipped back, eyes open and laid bare.

Watching his lover come undone for him was the greatest gift Merlin had ever been granted. He cradled Arthur’s cheek, smearing his release over the perfect display of Arthur’s chest.

 

***

When Arthur did not return one day, nor any day after, all that remained was the heavy burden of loss. Merlin had known joy, had tasted it on Arthur’s lips, and though Merlin spent every evening trying to recall the character of Arthur’s scent, he felt no regret.

The apple tree was in bloom and would soon bear fruit, just as serenity had been borne in Merlin. Eating his mouldy bread, Merlin smiled and drew a rainbow across the night sky, because Arthur had loved him, and no amount of hunger could erase his gratitude.

* * *

**28.**

The sea flickered an iron gray that mirrored the sky. Wind blew in over the waves, cool and damp, smelling of salt.

Uther sat upon a flat-topped rock, half of its volcanic heel submerged in the surf. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. His skin washed translucent, shimmered a pale purple, then back to its usual brown tone - the color of wet sand.

He sat alone on the beach, contemplating his own body, until a figure appeared. A young man, tall and slender, approached from behind. He wore linen pants that hung loose and a linen shirt of similar fit and quality. He wore no other adornment save three glossy black feathers, tied with twine into his black hair and tucked behind one ear.

When he stood near enough to be heard, he stopped, bare toes clutching at the soft, wet ground. “Are you alright?” he asked. His voice came oddly muted, caught and dissolved by the sea mist. Gulls wheeled and called overhead, sharp eyes skimming for edible bits of flotsam.

Receiving no reply, the young man ventured a little closer to Uther’s rock. He spoke louder, asking again, “Are you alright, Uther?”

Still, Uther made no answer. His skin prickled, flashing milky, purple, and milky once more before settling on a pale mimicry of his natural color.

The young man stepped closer yet, until he stood near enough to rest a hand upon Uther’s shoulder if he chose, his voice loud and clear as a shout when he said, “Uther, are you alright?”

Uther turned, slipping off the rock in one liquid movement. The young man choked, eyes wide over the grip of a long, slick appendage coiling tight around his neck. When he stumbled back Uther followed, bearing him down into the sand with two more inhumanly dexterous arms. “Merlin,” he said, “Yes, I am fine.”

Merlin jerked, struggling under the hold of Uther’s multiple limbs. A wave rolled across his legs and over his chest, soaking him through. The tide was rising. “I’m glad to hear it. Now please, let me go,” Merlin said.

Uther’s grip on Merlin’s neck tightened, more long, faintly purple tentacles slithering closer to wrap around Merlin’s wrists and ankles, splaying him wide like a starfish. “Why shouldn’t I be fine, Merlin?” he wondered aloud. One appendage thinned and lengthened, climbing up Merlin’s leg under the sodden weight of his pants. Another wove between the buttons of his shirt, and a third snaked up his other leg. Merlin gasped, a fresh wave washing across his open mouth, making him cough and buck against Uther’s hold.

Uther tipped his head, considering the frail body in his grasp. His unnatural limbs twitched with barely tested strength. Where they touched human skin, his tentacles secreted a viscous liquid that helped create a seal for rows of round, reflexively gripping suckers.

Curious, Uther directed the two arms exploring Merlin’s hip and thigh to his groin. Merlin’s eyes went round and he wiggled like a beached fish, mouth gaping, breathless. Uther touched over the limp length of Merlin’s cock, around the soft shift of his balls and below. As he encountered the tight entrances to Merlin’s body, at cockhead and between the soft meat of his rear, his tentacles flinched and tightened, narrowing thin and oozing slick. They probed closer, and while the tentacle at Merlin’s cock only teased inside his slit, the tentacle at his hole centered and screwed in, narrower than a child’s smallest finger to start but slowly expanding once seated.

Merlin’s throat quivered under Uther’s hold. His distress passed his lips in weak stutters, eyes rolling when Uther punched deep and slow, testing the give of Merlin’s body. Then Merlin’s cock began to firm, reluctant, drawing Uther’s attention. Abandoning his exploration of the head for a gathered twist around the shaft, Uther shuttled his coils up and down, rapidly bringing Merlin to fullness.

He experimented with a thicker press inside Merlin’s hole in concert with a long, tight pull. Merlin jerked, cock leaking. A fresh wave rushed over them, fully submerging everything below Uther’s shoulders. When the swell receded, Merlin spit up a gout of water, chest fluttering, panicked. Uther pressed a row of suckers to Merlin’s balls and began to pump a steady, inexorable rhythm.

He listened for the next wave, tightening his hold on Merlin’s neck as he thrust and sucked and tugged at Merlin’s groin.

When it came, Merlin’s eyes rolled back with the tide, his salt mingling with the sea’s.

* * *

**29.**

The summer passed by in a blur. It was the happiest Merlin had ever felt, working hard at being the village healer while Arthur brought home game and took care of the house. They had a little garden in which they grew vegetables for food, too. Hunith, Merlin’s mother, lived in the house just opposite and she brought them frequent gifts of linens and baskets.

This happiness was in most part, thanks to the little white dragon that Merlin kept. One day, it had come rushing through the windows, breathing little fireballs that singed the tablecloth and shrieking about a man in the river. Merlin had followed him, curious and a little afraid. He had found a man, yes, but oh, what a man, with hair that shone in the sunlight and eyes that seemed to be of the same shade as the cloudless sky. The man had been bathing in the river, his fine red cloak on the bank, but with a strong wind, the cloak flew away and Merlin chased after it until he had it safely in his arms, ready to return it to its owner.

“Your cloak,” Merlin had croaked, trying not to stare. The man narrowed his eyes, and then smirked.

“I’m Arthur,” he’d replied.

Merlin thought it very abrupt and strange. And then said Arthur stepped out of the river, bare as the day he was born, and gently took Merlin’s face between his hands and kissed him. Merlin’s arms wound around him of their own volition and they had lain together on the river bank that day, reveling in each other’s bodies.

Later, when Merlin asked Arthur to stay, he agreed, but not before hesitating, looking at the sky.

Of course, such idyllic happiness did not last for long.

What Arthur did not tell Merlin was that he was a Pendragon, of the royal family of the skies. A day there was half a year on Earth, and once Uther had found that his eldest son was missing, he’d turned mad with rage and sent out his best riders to find him. Arthur had resisted but to no avail, and the last Merlin saw of him was him being taken back into the skies, swearing that he would find some way to come back. In the chaos, Merlin had been terrified and confused, and finally realizing that Arthur wasn’t coming back, prepared to resign himself.

Until a certain white dragon demanded that he chase after Arthur, that is.

“Command me to fly into the skies,” he said, “for you are a dragonlord.”

And thus Merlin rode the little white dragon on the heels of Arthur and the riders that Uther had sent.

The little dragon was fast, ‘tis true, but Uther saw them approach, and just before Merlin reached Arthur, he threw down his crown which turned into a vast river of stars, forever separating the lovers.

 

**

“Do you regret it?” Merlin asked, “Agreeing to come and live with me that day?”

They were twined around each other, his fingers on Arthur’s golden skin, the other hand pumping him slowly as Arthur jerked.

“N-no,” Arthur replied, gasping, “or I wouldn’t have, for a time, enjoyed life on Earth with you.”

Merlin smiled and kissed him deeply, his tongue pushing insistently between Arthur’s lips, tangling with Arthur’s in a wet, clinging dance.

“We only have this day, the seventh day of the seventh month when the dragons lead me to you,” Merlin said, “and while for you it is two days, for me it is a year. A year I have to go without seeing you.”

“I am sorry,” Arthur replied, softly, pulling apart with a wet sound, “But I cannot for the life of me let you go, to live a life with someone else.”

“Worry not, for I would not, even if that was your wish.”

They clung together, holding each other, making the most of their time before the sun came up.

* * *

**30.**

When the magpies burst away from the bridge, a flurry of feathers obscuring the brilliant sky, he smiled. Anticipation already had his heart racing. The joy from watching the birds take flight simply added a fresh surge of energy.

A soft body collided with his, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling into the hair at his nape to drag his head down. Her mouth was hot and lush, hungry for kisses he only needed a moment to return, and as he scooped her into a full embrace, she bit at his lower lip, a shock of electricity that went straight to his balls.

“Slow down,” Lancelot murmured when she gave him the chance to breathe. His hands slid to cup her full bottom, encouragement she barely needed to climb up his body and grind against his now-hard cock. “There’s no rush.”

“There is.” She pulled back, and for the first time, he got to see her, the wide desperation in her brown eyes, the faint blush warming her cheeks. Curls had fallen loose from where she’d pinned it, tickling along her cheeks where the breeze caught the tendrils. “All we have is today.”

“All day.”

“Less than twenty-four hours.”

“And you’re wasting it by talking?” When she slapped at his chest in protest to his teasing, he laughed. “Ah, there’s my lady. As spirited as ever.”

“I’ll show you spirited.”

Her sudden release surprised him, the shift in her weight enough to drive him back a single step. Those scant inches were all she needed to push him down, knees hitting the bridge first, followed quickly by shoulders and back. Though her skirt kept her legs hidden from view, he didn’t need to see them to feel the way her thighs tightened around his hips, or how nothing kept her wet heat from him but the thin layer of his trousers.

“Don’t move,” she instructed. Without looking away, she slipped her hand between them out of sight but not out of touch. Nails she always kept blunt for work scraped along his aching cock as she fumbled blindly with his zipper. Lancelot couldn’t breathe, could barely manage to obey her demand. Twenty-four hours was never enough. When they were apart, he did everything he could not to dwell on what he couldn’t have, but here, now, with her eager fingers tight around his shaft, he didn’t understand how he could leave her behind again.

“My—”

The rest choked off, stolen by the swift intersection of her flesh to his, hot, slick, all-encompassing as his head swam, his clumsy fingers grasping at her hips to keep her still. His attempts failed, her need driven to greater strengths, and he had no choice but to rise up, meet her strokes, slam into her again and again and again with the pulse of all the stars that usually fell between them…

“…Lancelot!”

The world crashed around him, the sharp jolt in his shoulder jarring him from sleep. His head jerked up from where it had rested on his folded arm, and he blinked blearily at a grinning Merlin standing on the other side of the telescope.

“You fell asleep taking measurements again.” Merlin nodded to the open notebook in front of Lancelot. A wet spot where he’d drooled wrinkled the edge of the right page. “What star system knocked you out this time?”

Wiping at the corner of his mouth, he glanced at the notes, though he remembered all too clearly. “The same one.” Lyra. Though more and more, he thought of the bright star as a different name.

Merlin’s mirth softened. “You should call her,” he said quietly.

“She doesn’t want to hear from me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“She chose her work.”

“So did you at one point. But you’re having second thoughts about that now, too, aren’t you?”

God help him, he was. They’d both agreed their careers were too important to abandon, even though their directions diverged, separating them for months at a time. But every time he had to gaze upon Lyra, he remembered the Chinese fairy tale about the weaver girl and the cowherd who could only spend a single day together once a year, and he couldn’t fathom how they could survive it.

His hand shook as he picked up his phone. As he dialed her number. But when her voice leapt across the distance to greet him, breathless and eager as his dreams, the nerves vanished.

“Hello, Gwen…”

* * *

**31.**

******Percy at the Bat**

The mood was hot, electrifying in Camelot that day,  
For folk all knew that in the keep, the knights were hard at play.  
Sir Gwaine’d laid down a challenge that could not be denied,  
To see if any knight of theirs could make Merlin satisfied.

King Arthur smirked and snickered, but finally did agree;  
Merlin never came untouched with anyone save he!  
So spread across the Table Round lay Merlin in the buff,  
Roused and slicked and ready for the knights to prove their stuff.

Gwaine went first as challenger and struck his cock in deep.  
Merlin moaned politely and then tried to catch some sleep.  
Never known for self-control, too soon Sir Gwaine was done.  
"A worthy try," Merlin cried. "But you can see I have not come."

Sir Elyan stepped up next, proud brother to the Queen,  
With a cock as large and gorgeous as any there had seen.  
"I’m going to fuck you, Merlin, until you scream and spurt,  
With such a massive climax that your balls will surely hurt."

Unlike Gwaine, he took his time; he used his prick with grace  
And slowly fucked a look of joy right onto Merlin’s face.  
But Merlin’s arse was perilous: so hot and tight and sweet  
That Elyan came against his will and nearly lost his feet.

Queen Guinevere left her throne to pick her brother off the floor.  
‘Twas clear to all the spectators they needed someone more:  
More strength, more skill, more stamina, and able to resist  
The siren call of orgasm till Merlin falls to bliss.

"I’m your man," Sir Leon cried, flinging off his clothes.  
The assembled court cheered him on to curl Merlin’s toes.  
Indeed, when Leon entered him, it seemed he’d have more luck,  
For Merlin clearly did enjoy his perfect, steady fuck.

But though they fucked for quite some time, he never quite got there.  
Merlin just hummed a happy tune as Arthur stroked his hair.  
At last even sturdy Leon had to admit defeat  
As he pulled his cock from Merlin’s arse, shrunken and replete.

The Queen then called Sir Lancelot to bravely join the fight:  
"If anyone can pleasure him, it’ll be my best-loved knight!"  
"We’ll see," her husband answered and kissed brave Merlin’s face  
While Lancelot rubbed between his legs and got himself unlaced.

He eased his cock in Merlin’s arse; a true knight never shoved.  
Merlin sighed with happiness; looked up at him with love.  
Hard and harder Lance did fuck, making Merlin’s body sing,  
To prove that he could lose control with someone not his King.

But even Lance fell short at last, when his knees began to quake.  
"Are you close?" he gasped in hope, and groaned at Merlin’s shake.  
He gave it up and came and came; the knights all sighed with grief.  
Was no one left to win the day (and give Merlin some relief?)

The Great Hall doors banged open and the people roared,  
For Percy stood there naked, and he swung a mighty sword.  
His cock was huge and thick and red, and hard as hardest steel.  
The King and Merlin gaped in awe: they knew shit just got real.

"Percy! Mighty Percival! He has come to save our pride!  
For surely even Merlin can’t resist that massive ride."  
Sir Percival swaggered forward, amidst the cries of lust.  
He said: "Get ready, Merlin: now it’s orgasm or bust."

Servants poured lube over him. Arthur looked on with a frown,  
Worried that mighty Percy’d be the man to bring him down.  
All the lords and ladies there went glassy in their eyes,  
Waiting for the moment when Sir Percy claimed his prize.

Merlin more than anyone was breathless with desire;  
The first press of Percy’s cockhead in set his loins afire.  
In pushed Percy, in and in (and in and in, with force of will),  
Until Merlin lost in rapture writhed, arse completely filled.

Locked in pleasure, on they fucked, thrashing, straining, needful touch--  
But Percy’s sudden climax proved he’d taken on too much.  
When Percy fell back, limp and stunned, Merlin sat up with a pout,  
Still hard and stiff and leaking--mighty Percy had struck out.

"Enough!" cried Arthur, stripping down. "I’ll show you how it’s done."  
He slid right into Merlin’s arse and promptly made him come.  
The knights all bent their naked knees to the man who’d won their play;  
Despite defeat, they’d had much joy in Camelot that day.

* * *

**32.**

There once lived a great King named Uther with two children - the elder, Morgana, a girl dark and beautiful as the night sky, and the younger, Arthur, a golden son bright as the sun and his father’s pride and heir.

Word of the daughter’s great beauty went out across the land, and she had many suitors, but she refused each in turn, spurning them, as she was a proud girl and vain. “Send Arthur away to marry instead, Father,” she sneered, “and leave me to inherit the kingdom!” In time, her father grew angry and vowed he would marry her to the next suitor who came to their gates. When a cloaked figure arrived at their castle in deepest winter, the King thrust his daughter towards the stranger, bidding them marry and leave the kingdom forever.

The stranger, face hidden in furs, complied. Morgana was set in a small boat, and the stranger paddled them through icy seas to a distant island. Accustomed to a great castle, jewels and comforts, Morgana looked around and saw neither house nor shelter, just bare rock, ice, and cliffs. The stranger pulled back the cloak to reveal no husband, but the terrible, beautiful face of a woman. “Sister,” she said, “You share a father with the Prince who will one day rule all of Albion, but with me, you share a mother, and we are sisters. You shall live with me and cook for me, and we shall be as one.” The woman kissed her, and Morgana saw that she was one of the bird-folk, the sorcerers of the Old Religion.

Morgana screamed and fled, racing across the rock and cliffs to the bare shores of the island. Hearing her cries, her brother urged their father to hurry to the island for his sister’s sake. Taking her into their craft, they set course back to their kingdom.

But the bird-sorceress grew angry and conjured the powers of sea and sky, setting a violent storm to follow them and upset their craft.

The King saw the storm approaching and paddled with all his strength, but soon feared their boat would be lost. Now, the King was a coward, bitter from the loss of his wife, and he feared magic and sorcery above all else. He thought to himself that their boat could travel faster with fewer passengers. Without warning, her turned to grasp his daughter and tossed her into the waves.

Well that could have been the end of the tale – but it wasn’t. Morgana had such a great heart, that she swam with all her strength, ‘til she gripped the side of the boat, and would not let go.

But the cold of the ice-water had chilled her fingers, and the cold of the winter wind froze them solid. Uther raised his paddle and with a great *crack* brought it down upon her fingers, breaking them off. Morgana lost her grip, and fell back into the icy waves.

Well that could have been the end of the tale as well – but it wasn’t. Morgana had such a great heart that she found a magic of her own. “If the sea is to be my home,” she thought, “I will not dwell here alone.” She sank down into the dark depths, her broken fingers floating around her, and she called each finger in turn.

One finger caressed her long black hair, smoothing and separating the tangles. She shook her hair free, letting it billow in the currents, and the finger became the first seal, laughing in the dappled light of the sea.

Another finger touched her lips until they parted, and she drew the tip of the finger into her mouth, stroking it upon her tongue. Her magic spread, and in moments she found herself kissing the playful whiskers of the first otter, who rolled and somersaulted in the ocean swell.

The last finger teased at her sex, until her pleasure peaked, releasing waves of warmth and contentment through the ocean depths. From this finger formed the whale, mightiest of creatures, slow and gentle as the tides.

Morgana lives on as the Goddess of the Sea. The great beasts of the ocean are her lovers and companions. She harbours great rage against the King on the Shore and sends fierce storms to torment his people. To calm her, her golden brother swims down to her and combs her long, tangled black hair, as she has no fingers to do it herself.

* * *

**33.**

Morgana stands at the ships rail watching as they move away from the sinking Dutch pirate ship. Captain Pendragon had arrived just in time to rescue Morgana from an uncertain fate. They had abducted her on her way to France and her cousin Abbess Morgause, away from the turmoil in Ireland and her father’s estates. She was to be educated in France and relative safety but that appears to not be the case anymore. The privateer captain was bound for the new world making that Morgana’s new destination as well.

She hears a sound at her side and turns. A tall bearded man is standing behind her holding what appears to be a cup of wine, “Is milady thirsty?” he asks with a roguish grin.

“Thank you,” she says and takes the cup. The man continues to stand next to her. Not taking the hint that he has been dismissed.

“You are a pretty one, princess. Arthur for once did something I agree with in principal anyway, names Gwaine by the way,” the rogue whose name apparently Gwaine says as he sidles up next to her by the rail.

Morgana hides a grin at his audacity, “You are a brave one.”

“Brave is one of the better things I have been called,” Gwaine says with a twinkle in his eye,  
“should you be in need of anything else on the voyage princess, don’t hesitate to ask me,” Gwaine gives her an elaborate bow before turning and walking away.

 

~~~~~

Over the next week little things start to appear in Morgana’s living space. First an orange next to her plate at dinner, next a new handkerchief on her bedside table, finally she catches Gwaine leaving a book of poetry beside her cabin door one night.

“Just thought you would like a couple niceties while stuck with us, ”Gwaine says as he tries to sneak away.

Morgana smiles and holds her hand out to him, “You sir, are sneaky. Would you like to escort me around the deck?”

Gwaine holds his hand out, “It would be my pleasure.”

From then on they are inseparable. Every waking moment not taken up with work they spend together. They become favorites of the crew as Gwaine coaxes Morgana out of her black mood and brings life back into her eyes.

At the end of the tenth day as the sun is setting they are married before the crew and passengers alike. Captain Pendragon officiates and Doctor Emrys plans the wedding meal.

As soon as they can Gwaine takes her hand and pulls her away from the celebrating crowd. They run hand in hand down the narrow corridor and into the captain’s quarters.

Gwaine pulls Morgana into his arms and kisses her, “The captain said we could use his cabin for the night,” he says between kisses.

Morgana looks at him with a mischievous look, “I say we put them to good use then.”

They stumble to the small bed shedding clothes as they go. When they get there Gwaine falls to the bed and pulls Morgana on top of him kissing her neck as she settles straddling him.

“You are making me a very happy man, princess,” he says as he grins up at her.

Morgana smirks and runs her finger along his length, “Oh you haven’t seen anything yet,” she says she positions his dick and sinks onto it.

“Oh jesus,” Gwaine gasps his hands settling on her hips as he thrust up into her.

Morgana meets his thrusts and bears down on him. Her hands running along his chest and abs tweaking his nipples each time they pass.

“My princess, mine, my princess,” Gwaine mutters as he speeds up his thrust, sounds echoing off the small cabin.

Morgana leans forward and kisses him, slipping her tongue into his month and licking his tongue as they both come with a gasp.

“Love you,” Gwaine murmurs into her hair before falling asleep.

Morgana moves off of him and settles by his side with a small sincere small on her face, “I love you too, my prince.”

 

~~~~~

“Welcome to this new found land, my princess,” Gwaine’s grins at her as he lifts her from the launch and carries her through the surf.

Morgana smiles brightly at him as she leads the way ashore.

* * *

**34.**

Oberon might be king of the fairies, but he gives the worst head Merlin has had in a hundred years. Skull against the brickwork of The End of Days Inn, Merlin grits his teeth, trying not to say, “You’re the perfect height for this without even kneeling, how are you not better at it?”

He steers his cock back between Oberon’s – now mercifully spit-slicked – lips, gathers a loose fistful of blond hair in an attempt to take charge. He looks down, but what he wants to see – Arthur superimposed, tight-mouthed and doe-eyed for him – won’t come, even as Oberon’s hands make a decent, if miniature, facsimile on the back of his thighs.

Jack Frost – lanky and all in black – slinks around the corner, bottle dangling from his pale fingers. Smirking, he stops; watches Oberon bob overenthusiastically and gag. Catching Merlin’s eye from inside scribbles of liner, he gestures to the way he’s come, but Merlin beckons him over, palming the back of Oberon’s neck in encouragement.

Arousal finally makes his heartbeat stagger as Jack gets right in his ear, frigid breath fanning his heated lobe. “Not getting what you need, conjurer?”

He traces tiny shivers along Merlin’s lip with the pad of his finger, turning his chin to take his mouth in a bitter, whiskey-flavoured kiss. Chill suffuses Merlin, trickles down his chest as if spikey, sprawling crystals are forming in his cells, and coaxes noises he's acutely self-conscious about from between their mouths. As they kiss, hard and familiar, thin, icy fingers curl around his dick, meeting Oberon’s mouth where it floods heat to the tip. Together they make Merlin cave about his navel.

Pressing into his side, Jack mouths Merlin’s neck, nipping at the juncture where it meets his shoulder with stony teeth. “Better?”

“Yes.”

Word a harsh whisper, Merlin closes his eyes as Jack sinks down, and – with a huff of derision at Oberon and a clink of bottle on concrete – takes his place at Merlin’s feet. Fast and filthy he delivers almost painfully icy little licks to the straining, heated flesh, before swallowing Merlin all the way down into his glassy throat, sending jagged shudders up to push apart his vertebrae. Merlin lifts onto his toes, spreading his legs wider when he can settle again, peering through his lashes to watch.

Jack draws away, sticking out his tongue to tease the slit, breath a foggy cloud around the shiny pink head, even though the air is that of summertime.

It’s not solely responsible for the shiver that racks Merlin’s body: a warm, small hand trails up his thigh, and with hot, sloppy kisses to his hip, Oberon touches under Jack’s chin to find the sensitive skin behind Merlin’s balls. Sliding across Jack’s tongue with a sharp thrust, Merlin grabs at Oberon’s fringe, finally seeing Arthur in the splay of blond between his knuckles, ludicrously close to the edge as he hovers between goosebumped and feverish.

A twist of Jack’s tongue, a brush of stealthy fingers, and Merlin slips from Jack’s mouth. With a groan, he comes, coating Jack’s chin. The whiteness crackles, turn to icicles that cling to Jack’s skin, and between too-fast breaths, Merlin pushes out, “Sh – oh shit, sorry.”

With a smirk, Jack picks off the shards and drops them onto his tongue. Using Oberon’s shoulder as leverage, he staggers to his feet, pressing Merlin back against the wall, hands heavy on his hips. Open-mouthed, he kisses, pushing in until Merlin feels his own spunk melting where they meet.

A tiny, tinny moan echoes somewhere behind them. When Merlin looks past Jack’s shoulder, Oberon’s wiping his fingers on a lavender handkerchief plucked from the pocket of his waistcoat and muttering that this isn’t immoral, and neither is wanting to turn your adopted offspring into henchmen.

“And people think you’re barking,” Jack whispers, close enough to make it a secret.

“Droll.” Shrugging off the weight of Jack’s body, Merlin rearranges his clothes.

“Nearly autumn. What colour do you want your leaves, conjurer? Crimson like your dead king’s cloak again?”

Merlin ducks his head. “He’s not – Arthur won’t always be once. He _will_ be future, one day.”

“And I’ll be fucking sunshine,” Jack says, reaching for his bottle, “one day.”

Merlin walks away. He comes here to see the only person in the whole of time and space who really understands what it’s like to live frozen; it’s been centuries, but he hasn’t learnt that it doesn’t take away the cold.

* * *

**35.**

They only meet once a year at most, and the time they steal together is never enough. It’s never long enough for either of them.

Arthur holds Merlin against him, their bodies curled up tight. Merlin is cool against him and Arthur burns. It’s how they’ve always been. Arthur brings warmth to the world, light it up and chasing away the darkness. Merlin is as cool as the night air, creating darkness.

They balance each other out, and without them the world would burn and everyone would be lost in darkness.

But they are forever kept apart, traveling different paths through the sky.

Merlin moans and presses his forward to Arthur’s, wrapping his legs around his waist.

Their time is already running out. They could feel it from the moment they touched. Fingers clinging in desperation as they had pulled off clothing and moved against each other knowing they would be together only to be ripped away. They had tried to ignore each other for centuries, believing that the pain would be less when they had to part. It hadn’t worked. They’d only ended up regretting the time they had missed out on.

So they went back to stealing the few moments they had together and clinging to the memories until the next time they were able to meet.

Arthur thrusts into Merlin, his cock hard and Merlin moans gripping at his shoulders. Arthur laughs in sheer joy at being able to touch him and Merlin smiles. This isn’t the first time they’ve done this during the current meeting. They try to get in as many times as possible. It might not even be their last time, the days had gotten longer giving them precious moments.

Arthur groans, pressing his forward to Merlin’s neck and coming. Pulling out to look at his handy work. Merlin is still hard and ready, so Arthur sinks down on him. He rides him hard, their bodies slick with sweat. Arthur burns and Merlin shivers unaccustomed to the heat but loving it just the same. Finally, Merlin falls apart and comes.

Arthur collapses at his side and they both are breathing hard. Their fingers intertwine.

They go again, sucking and swallowing. Holding each as close as they can and talking, trying to fill in the months and years they’ve been apart. Arthur tells of a family he’d been watching, the lives they’ve lead and the children they have. Merlin talks of the stars he’d seen died, how he wished he could have saved them but he couldn’t divert his path and just had to watch.

Their time runs out and they kiss, clinging to each other before letting go, going in separate directions. Arthur starts to fall as Merlin rises. Their time has ended and it will be years before they can be together again. They go back to passing each other in the sky, exchanging longing looks and counting down the time until they can meet again. They are the moon and the sun, rarely touching.

* * *

**36.**

“So it's all real then?” Arthur says, trailing a pace behind the tall, skinny scientist in a lab coat and looking around with unabashed wonder.

“Yep.”

“This is Area 51?”

“Yep.”

“So... Roswell?”

“Aliens.”

Arthur thinks of all the conspiracy theorists and UFO nuts who would quite literally give an arm and a leg to see even a fraction of the things he's seeing.

“We need a pilot,” the scientist- Merlin, according to his name tag- is telling him, “for a top secret prototype aircraft.”

Well, if it's a pilot they need, they've certainly chosen the best. Arthur sits a little straighter with pride and nods. He starts slumping again shortly thereafter when he sees the pile of paperwork he has to sign.

They run him through dozens of medical checks and training sessions, checking every possible thing he thinks _could_ be checked plus an extra dozen on the side. One day, they tell him he's ready and then... they just leave him alone.

He just sits around and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

He's still getting paid. It's not a bad gig, really, getting paid to sit on his ass all day and throw pens at Merlin. But he's a pilot and he likes being high in the air, not stuck underground.

Quite frankly, Arthur is bored.

Merlin is wild and erratic and doesn't always shower or eat or brush his hair because he forgets what day it is or how long it's been since he last did those things. But he's also funny and has a good smile, so Arthur ends up sitting with him nine days out of ten, bouncing a tennis ball off the wall.

The tennis ball gets confiscated after he breaks something important and expensive, so without quite meaning to, he takes to memorizing things like the perfect curve of Merlin's neck when he's scribbling away on sheets of graph paper, or the shape of his fingers when he twirls his pen, or the arc of his silly ears half obscured by dark hair.

He needs a haircut, Arthur thinks, then he huffs and walks away to get lunch from the cafeteria.

Several weeks later, just when Arthur thinks he might be close to reaching the end of his tether, he hears Merlin shouting his name. He's already in a thin white t-shirt and boxers and on his way to bed, but Merlin's voice is echoing down the hallway and probably waking everyone up.

Arthur looks up and suddenly Merlin is in his doorway, and then he blinks and he has an armful of enthusiastic scientist wiggling and giddy with unrestrained glee.

“I did it,” Merlin tells him in a rush. “I did it. I did it. I did it.”

“What?” Arthur says.

“You're going to fly tomorrow,” Merlin says, joy shining in his eyes.

“Oh,” Arthur says, and smiles back at him so widely it's a wonder his face doesn't split in two.

He blinks again, and just like the last time, he misses something and then Merlin is kissing him hot and hungry and Arthur doesn't even think, he just sits down on his bed and pulls Merlin with him into his lap.

He'd never thought Merlin would be like this: panting and writhing and begging him for more, more, more. If you'd asked him before, not that anyone would have, he might have guessed that Merlin would be shy in bed- all long, awkward limbs and soft smiles. But the way Merlin is now is so far from that dream that it's almost a joke.

Merlin is demanding and rough and maybe he's still riding his scientific high, but Arthur's never been with someone quite so enthusiastic. Merlin straddles him and begs Arthur to open him up with fingers, one-two-three, and then he comes, eyes upturned to the bland, concrete ceiling and pretty red mouth falling open on a silent cry.

Arthur goes to pull away and Merlin grabs his wrist, orders him not to stop, not now, not _ever_. Arthur complies because he was so very badly to see that look on Merlin's face again, but this time directed at _him_.

It's not the last time Merlin comes that night and he makes sure Arthur gets his due as well. In the morning he's limping a little and apologizing to everyone and everything he bumps into. But every time he catches Arthur's eye, he breaks into a little breathless smile and the memory of it keeps Arthur cheerful all through the rest of the day.

Today, Arthur's going to give those conspiracy theorists something to _really_ talk about.

* * *

**37.**

**Snow Doesn't Mean Pure or Snow White Wasn't a Virgin**

"Once upon a time in a land far, far away—"

"You're absolute shit at this."

"—there was a Prince who fell victim to a terrible spell."

Arthur scoffed, staring down at the parchment like it offended him.

"What is your problem now?"

Arthur pointed down at the paper. "Terrible spell?"

"This is the version for our children, Arthur! This is the story that will be told in halls all over the land. I can't put down what really happened."

"Why not?"

Merlin sighed, "Because no one wants to hear about the bit where Morgana strolled into a war camp in the middle of the night and caught us shagging."

"Shagging? I was _ravishing_ you! It is a testament to my superior skills as a lover that your magic was going mental. I mean, come on! The land definitely needs to know about my cock of awesome. In fact, I think that should be the title: Prince of Awesome Cock."

Merlin went back to writing.

"—a terrible spell, while he was in the midst of falling in love," he wrote, glaring at Arthur while he continued. "The spell was so powerful that it drove his love to madness, forgetting that the Prince was ever asleep and therefore, the spell could never be broken. Because only a single kiss from the Prince's true love would ever awaken the Prince to rule justly and fairly and true.

“So, the Prince slept on and his true love wandered the land for five whole lifetimes before the tides of fate changed and the knights—You know, it's strange to call them knights because by the time you woke up, they weren't really knights anymore. Maybe we should call them something else, something fluffier? Cuter?"

"Arthur?"

Merlin looked up from to find Arthur eyes closed and his mouth parted, panting. Merlin narrowed his own gaze. "What are you doing?"

Arthur grinned, "I'm getting in the mood to remember what happens when the Prince is awakened by the 'kiss' of his true love."

"Arthur! Stop _wanking_ and pay attention," Merlin screeched, trying to kick Arthur's leg underneath the table. "I'm not going to tell the world I woke you up with a blowjob."

"But that's what happened! You said so! You said--"

Merlin stomped his foot. "I know what I _said_."

"Golden glittering cock! You said it called to you and you had to suck it," Arthur said, a little breathless but probably not from indignation. "Besides, how can you skip out on the part where the magic of my come brought back all your memories?"

"Because this is a children's story, Arthur! You complete pillock," Merlin muttered. "Besides, then I'd have to include the part where you woke from a dead sleep, begged me to fuck you and then rolled over and presented yourself like the cheapest slag in the land. I can't have everyone knowing you as the Bottomest Bottoming King in All the Ages, because although that's true—"

"Whatever you say, Merlin," Arthur purred. Merlin watched in shock as Arthur sunk back into his chair, head tilted to expose the beautiful line of his throat and the unmistakable splay of muscles in his arms that indicated he was working his cock with the tight clench of his fist.

He watched for a moment before giving in and walking over to Arthur to card a hand through his hair and watch as he worked his leaking cock.

"Should I write of the way you begged for me to take you, voice ragged with time, while your cock was still soft after my mouth," Merlin whispered, tugging on Arthur's hair and watching as his hips arched. "Should I tell of how you were so hot and desperately tight for me that you came without a hand around your 'golden cock' but that the feel of _my come_ inside of you, dripping down your cheeks and wetting your thighs was what restored your mind and made your body come alive?"

Merlin paused for dramatic effect before climbing into Arthur's lap. If Arthur thought wanking was more productive than fairytales, then Merlin was going to in on the action.

Only after one roll of his hips, Arthur came with a choked little, 'Merlin', splashing between them.

"I can't believe you came before me," Merlin squawked, still hard against Arthur's belly. "Just for that, I'm making the knights dwarves and saying it was your idea, Princess."

Arthur's resulting laugh was something no fairytale-ending could ever do justice.

* * *

**38.**

There once was a princess who knew she didn't want to marry a prince, but she hadn't exactly had good luck with the ladies either. The Lady Morgana had been in love with her maidservant for some years before she realised that said maidservant was trying to decide whether she preferred Morgana's idiot brother Arthur or some other dashing warrior type who adored her.

The next object of Morgana's affections was a dashing warrior type herself, a blond bombshell who showed Arthur up in front of the whole court, practised magic fearlessly, cured the nightmares that had been plaguing Morgana since puberty, and turned out to be her sister. Because that was just Morgana's luck.

Well, who needed maidservants and mysterious witches anyway? Morgana would marry a woman who shared her own taste for smooth satin, a good night's sleep, and the look of a woman's breasts in an elegant gown. She would marry a princess and get the hell out of Camelot.

The Lady Vivian was certainly beautiful, but she truly captured Morgana's heart when she called her accommodations "adequate". Morgana waited for Gwen to finish making up Vivian's bed with two fine mattresses and a dozen eiderdown quilts before she snuck into the room.

(Slightly cleverer, Morgana realised as she hefted up the mattresses to deposit the enchanted pea that Morgause had given her, would have been to do this _before_ Gwen made the bed.)

In the morning Morgana, who was getting rather good at lurking in corridors lately, listened to Arthur and Gwen whisper sappy endearments at each other until Vivian burst out of her chamber. "Quiet that racket, you two! It's not enough that you put some hard pokey thing in my bed that kept me tossing and turning all night. Must you stand outside my door jabbering as well? Really, Arthur, the girl's a menace. You must have her sacked at once."

Arthur puffed out his chest as he wrapped a protective arm around Gwen, but before he could say anything Morgana stepped out of her hiding place and said, "Did I hear you had trouble sleeping last night?" Vivian pouted as she nodded. "Well, we can't have that, not for our guest of honour! Nobody knows more about sleepless nights than me. Come along, dear, I've got a bracelet you should try on." Morgana put her arms around the tiny princess and led her away while Arthur and Gwen stared after them in silence.

"Take me with you to your castle," Morgana said once they'd reached her own chamber, "and no one will ever try to prick at you in bed again."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," Vivian said guardedly.

"I mean," said Morgana, reaching out to stroke Vivian's cheek, "that my hands are very gentle." Morgana leaned forward, and Vivian didn't draw away as she murmured, "And my lips are very soft," against Vivian's soft, wet, open mouth.

Vivian giggled, wrapped her arms around Morgana's neck and said, "Will your mouth feel that good when you're kissing my cunt?"

And even Morgana, who considered herself something of a woman of the world after the incident with the magical half-sister, had to stop, catch her breath, and then laugh before she promised, "Even better, my lady. Even better."

Uther had begun to despair of ever finding a match Morgana would consent to, while Olaf was so jealous he _hoped_ never to find a man to marry Vivian. Much like Vivian herself, though, he failed to perceive the Lady Morgana as any kind of threat. The two kings were only too happy to see the princesses wed, and in time Vivian would become queen, with Morgana as her magician and consort.

Neither of them ever cared for pokey things in bed, although with time Morgana learned to savour the sharpness of Vivian's nails scoring her back and the tug of Vivian's fingers at her hair. Vivian, for her part, came to appreciate the hard weight of Morgana's hands and hips on top of her, and even the metal toys that throbbed with Morgana's magic against her most secret and sensitive skin.

But mostly they used their mouths, kissed and licked and sucked each other sore, until they were wet with tears and come, and then whispered to each other over and over, "You are perfect. I am so glad I've found you."

The two women lived happily ever after and, when they weren't busy fucking, always slept soundly through the night.

* * *

**39.**

Arthur, king of Albion, was regarded by many to be a child of the gods. He was well-formed and beautiful to behold, and there was none stronger than he. He was formidable, both as man and king.

Yet for all that he was mighty he was also wild. Often was he found to be engaged in making sport of wrestling those weaker than him, and of taking the daughters of Albion as his own as frequently as he chose.

As one the people of Albion did beg the gods to find a way of soothing their king’s hot-bloodedness and in answer to their prayers did Lord Kilgharrah fashion a man, a counterpart to the King of Albion, so that he might bring peace to the restless king.

And so one day the Witch-Priestess Morgana did lead into Albion a man of well-formed limbs and wide, guileless eyes and, taking him to the king, did present to him this innocent creature.

‘Here is Merlin that was Myrddin, he who haunted the woods as a wild thing till we did tame him. He is your other half, O King!’ said she. ‘He is your counterpart, whom the Lord Kilgharrah saw fit to make as your companion.’

And Arthur looked upon the other and his heart felt full, as if for the first time it was whole.

But Merlin was not satisfied.

‘Thy strength is as a weakling child’s and thine actions are unworthy of kings,’ he said scornfully. ‘You torment your men and you take the women as your own. I do not acknowledge you as my king.’ And with that Merlin did turn his back on Arthur.

Arthur, enraged at the slight, strode forward and seized Merlin by the arm.

‘You doubt my strength?’ he questioned.

‘I do,’ said Merlin.

‘You doubt my claim as King?’

‘I do,’ said Merlin.

‘Then, that I should show you my might, I challenge thee!’ declared Arthur.

And so they each seized the other in mighty grips, one with the strength of a boar and the other with the cunning of a fox. And as they wrestled their naked bodies did come into contact and each touch to the other was as burning yet still they did not stop. Their mighty chests did press against the other’s and their loins clashed together in sinuous twists, even as they did fight.

But as they wrestled together a change did occur and Merlin looked at Arthur with eyes anew, for the King’s skin gleamed with sweat and his eyes sparkled with determination.

‘Behold!’ an inner voice cried. ‘Here is the best and most beautiful of men!’

With that, Arthur seized Merlin and pushed him to the ground, triumphant.

‘Do you yield?’ said he.

‘I do yield,’ Merlin said, lowering his head. Then, raising his voice he did declare, ‘Behold! Here is Arthur, lord of Albion, and king of kings!’

Then did Arthur remove his body from Merlin’s and bade him rise. When both stood, Arthur did embrace Merlin as a man embraces his wife, and he was filled with joy for never before had he felt so full of peace and contentment as he did in that moment.

‘Come,’ he said gently, taking Merlin by the arm. ‘Let us cement this friendship with ties more binding.’

‘I wish for nothing more,’ said Merlin, bowing his head low.

And so did Arthur take Merlin into the temple wherein the priestesses did lay with men and, sending away all but he, did then lay down with Merlin and proceeded to worship his body by the altar of the Lord Kilgharrah.

‘Thou art my truest love,’ Arthur smiled down at Merlin even as he thrust inside him mightily. ‘My heart belongs to thee.’

‘And mine to you,’ Merlin did reply, his eyes full of worship and pleasure. ‘You are mine and I am yours, O King!’

‘Now I am whole,’ Arthur did pronounce, pushing into the other and taking his pleasure. ‘For you were made for me by Lord Kilgharrah himself so that you might bring peace to my heart and to the land of Albion.’

‘And together we shall make Albion mightier still,’ Merlin smiled, clasping Arthur’s hand even as his body did clasp Arthur’s.

‘As you say,’ said the king of Albion, before leaning down and pressing his lips to his Merlin’s.

And, in his completion in the other, did the King bind the fate of the land of Albion within them both, for better or for worse.

* * *

**40.**

It started, as it always did, with a badly timed spell from some mediocre magic user who was desperate to prove their power to the kingdom at large. It ended, as it never usually did, with Merlin getting his brains fucked out with his face pushing into Arthur’s extremely fluffy pillows.

And somewhere in between there was a story, but Merlin would be damned if he could remember a single thing as Arthur’s hand gripped his shoulder, holding him in place as he pushed Merlin back into every drag of his cock, hitting a place inside Merlin that he didn’t even know he had.

Merlin thought breathing was rather overrated anyway.

Oh! Yes, there _had_ been an incident where Leon turned into a magnificently huge troll – one that Merlin certainly had never seen the likes of. It was absurdly large with wild, black hair and between the round eyes as large as saucers there was a nose so long that Merlin was morbidly fascinated, really.

The troll (or Leon, if one prefers) had asked Merlin to have a porridge eating contest, which Merlin just found an oddly arbitrary choice for a contest to test their worth. Not to mention unfair since Merlin was rather on the thin side, and even if he did eat a lot more than one would think, he certainly couldn’t out-eat a giant troll (even if it was Leon). So, obviously, he cheated with magic – not because Merlin liked cheating, just because it was necessary.

Gaius had been no help in trying to turn Leon back to his original state of non-trolldom. He’d just muttered a lot under his breath and fumbled hastily with vials of those herbs Merlin could never keep straight. So Merlin had sought out Kilgharrah instead, because frankly, he never seemed to learn that this was never a fruitful venture.

Kilgharrah had looked at him and Merlin always found it very difficult to read expressions on his face, because really, dragons seemed oddly expressionless or at least they didn’t express emotions in a way Merlin could make sense of.

“Maybe what he needs is True Love’s kiss,” Kilgharrah had said, making an odd snorting sound.

And, well, Merlin didn’t really think he was Leon’s true love or Leon’s… _any_ love, but maybe the spell wasn’t that intelligent and wouldn’t know the difference between a True Love’s kiss and any old kiss if it hit it in the face.

So Merlin had gone looking for the troll and found it inhabiting a gingerbread house, balancing its huge form on a tiny gingerbread chair. Which seemed to be a really odd choice, but at this point Merlin was beyond questioning anything that these ridiculous sorcerers threw in his path. And so he had gingerly (heh) stepped across the gingerbread floorboards that snapped in half under his feet and pressed a kiss to what he was largely guessing was the troll’s mouth.

Disappointingly, nothing had happened. Well, that was technically untrue, because the troll had stared at him and then flailed its hands in a very untroll-like manner. Then Gaius had come running in with a flask in his hand and Merlin had been immensely relieved that Leon would finally be released from his spell.

But Gaius had gripped _Merlin_ by the hair and forced the liquid down his throat while Merlin’s eyes watered. And… _oh_. Oh. Everything had dissolved in front of his eyes, the gingerbread crumbling away and becoming hay, and Leon became Leon. But then again, it did seem like Leon had been Leon all along. He did have that dumb troll look about him at the time, though: the ‘I don’t understand anything’-look.

Somewhere, Kilgharrah had laughed.

And that had been the end of that. Except it really hadn’t, because Arthur had seen the whole thing and came flouncing down the steps from the castle, dragging Merlin away while hissing things about _kissing_ and _Leon being dead_. Merlin hadn’t understood anything as Arthur had forcefully dragged him into his room, but then he saw Arthur’s face and human faces were a lot easier to read than a dragon’s.

Oh.

So he’d kissed Arthur instead and here they were, Merlin keening into the sheets as Arthur held his hips possessively in a grip that was on the verge of hurting a little. Merlin didn’t mind one bit, actually, because he was pretty sure these stories were supposed to have happily ever afters and nothing was happier than Arthur’s fingers on him.

* * *

**41.**

There once was a trickster or a mischief maker, old of mind and young of spirit, who travelled all the lands and all the seas in many shapes. None knew his true name but all spoke of his golden eyes and the magic he wielded.

One day whilst travelling in his true form he was spared during a great hunt. His saviour, golden of hair and strong of body, looking for a challenge the Tricksters travel weary body could not provide. So, feeling indebted to the unwitting man, the trickster took him as his Master, vowing to protect him from all harm.

And so, in his human shape, hair darker than ink and eyes bluer than sky, the trickster became a servant, still causing mischief by freeing worthy prisoners and stealing his Masters keys, but also protecting him against many foes.

Then one day the Trickster fell. Not from any height, or because of his Masters boots, although they always seemed placed to trip him. Instead he tumbled freely and devotedly into the unknown passionate embrace of love, the greatest and most terrifying adventure of all.

Yet his love did not see him for his true self.

And so, slowly, the Trickster earned his Masters heart, thawing the ice that froze him in a perfect image of disgruntled nobility. First becoming friend, then lover.

***

_“Really Merlin, I thought you’d be good at this at least. Faster, damn you!”_

_Slick bodies twined together as they writhed in pleasure, thrusting against each other as their pleasure peaked.  
“Be quiet sire, I know exactly what I’m doing.”_

***

“I would write our love in the stars so all would know it,” the Trickster would say, while the Master lovingly traced his features.

“What are you Merlin?” he would ask, and still his love would only smile. This one secret kept between them.

And yet the Master grew jealous of his Love, and the secret that was denied him, craving his servants’ heart and the knowledge bound to it; not yet understanding that all the servant had was his to command. So the Master plotted, silently following his pray until his true form was revealed and a great fox with nine tails and golden eyes was before him.

And the Servant noticed his Master and wept, for all those who loved his kind could never see their true form lest disaster be wrought in their lives, so he left in despair, no hope in his heart of seeing his love again.

***

The Master sought answers from a Wiseman and left with the word Kitsune strange upon his tongue, yet a prayer on his lips, determined to search for his love.

***

_“Please Giaus, I need your help!”_

_“I wish I could sire but I don’t know where Merlin is.”_

***

So the Master searched and the seasons changed, pale autumn drowned beneath bitter snow. The Old King passing silently into deaths hall with the last haunting remnants of the red oak leaves. The Master crowned the next good king of the realm. And still he searched.

***

Then one day a huntsman appeared carrying the body of a nine tailed fox, limp in eternal sleep, eyes void of golden magic.

“Did thou slay? DID THOU SLAY HIM?” despaired the Good King, cradling the fox to his chest, perhaps believing that it was a final trick and that once more his servant would be returned to him.

“Nay, Nay!” cried the Huntsman. “It was not I, It was not I!”

The Huntsman trembled beneath the Masters gaze.

“There is a story,” rushed the Huntsman, “passed down through my ancestors, of a great magic fox who roamed the forest. It is said that he was a trickster, yet not a malicious one, and that he held great magic in his hands, for he often changed shape from fox to boy to man. None had seen him in our forest for many a year until he was discovered wandering ill and alone this passing winter. Our healing woman cared for him and nourished him but no sickness or wound could be found. Eventually she believed that he no longer wanted to live and that his malady was that of a broken heart.”

The Good King, distraught beyond measure, sat with his beloved all through the day until night broke and the stars shone upon him. And then looking up from his vigil the master noted a new star in the sky, and knew his lover was watching.

***

And so the Master, filled with grief, closed his heart to all others, though many tried to seize it as their own; in time becoming known as a great warrior and eternal king, until one night, when time had run due course and death marked his face. The Master looked out upon the stars in sweet happiness, for he knew that he would soon be with his lover again, and together they would shine down upon the kingdom, the Once and Future King and his Servant. Thus he went easily to deaths calm embrace none but one word upon his lips.

***

_“Merlin.”_

* * *

**42.**

"This is bloody ridiculous. Bugger Gwaine, what is he, a thirteen year old girl?" Merlin grumbles to himself as he takes the stairs two at a time.

This is what happens when those prats he calls friends crack into Percy's father's liquor cabinet. He finds his way into the bathroom and flicks on the switch.

"No lights!" Gwaine calls from the bottom of the stairs and Merlin curses his aggravating Irish arse before turning them off.

He stands in front of the mirror. Slivers of moonlight frame his face, creating shadows in his reflection.

"This is so stupid," Merlin takes a cautious look around. Dare. Why the fuck had he said dare?

With a heavy sigh he turns back to the mirror and focuses on the darkening blue of his irises.

"Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary."

The words leave his lips in a gush of breath, barely loud enough to hit his own ears. He feels like a foolish teenager, spooked by an urban myth that serves as childish fodder for giggly schoolgirls at sleepovers.

A long drawn out creak slices through the air and it's crazy but the palms of his hands dampen and an involuntary shiver skates down his spine.

"Pull yourself together," Merlin tells himself, stepping back and colliding straight into a firm chest. The sound he makes is embarrassingly high pitched. Arthur's laughter rings in his ears, making him flush scarlet.

"You prat!"

"Scared the mean old witch is going to get you?"

Merlin spins on his heel and makes to push past him. "Fuck off."

"Come on," Arthur wraps an arm around Merlin's waist, runs blunt nails where his t-shirt rides up. Goose-bumps prickle over his skin and though he's loathed to give into it Merlin allows his treacherous body to press closer.

"Come to be my knight in shining armour?" Merlin asks against Arthur's shoulder. The fingers at the base of his spine continue to stroke back and forth, daring to dip lower but never quite far enough. The infuriating tease.

"Did you see your future husband?" Arthur responds, teeth nipping at the sensitive shell of Merlin's ear. Each graze on his lobe has his hips jolt forward, rubbing against the heat of Arthur's thigh.

"I'm not some Victorian damsel you know."

"No," Arthur's lips move to suck bruising kisses along his jaw. "You just blush like one."

Merlin smacks a hand against his chest but Arthur grabs and holds it there; uses the movement to spin them both until the bathroom door is slammed shut and Merlin's back is pressed against it.

"So?"

It takes Merlin a few seconds for his brain to catch up with the conversation because Arthur's tongue is doing something amazing to the dip of his collarbone and his cock is very much interested in that continuing and perhaps moving lower.

"The only face I saw was your annoying one." Merlin manages to stutter out in reply. A gasp catches in the back of his throat as Arthur's fingers finally slip beneath the band of his jeans and run along the crease of his arse.

Merlin swears he can hear Arthur murmur 'good' before the crown of his blonde head drops down and sharp teeth nip at the tender flesh over his hipbone.

Arthur's tongue swirls around the dusting of dark hair above his parted zipper and his jeans start to strain at the thought of Arthur's experienced mouth working itself over his cock.

Then soon he's not imagining it - it's happening. One of Arthur's hands massages the pucker of his hole whilst the other makes quick work of ridding him of his underwear. Before Merlin can even wiggle them past his knees Arthur's mouth is on him. Insistent and all consuming.

This is where Arthur shows his emotions. Where he can claim Merlin as his own and mark his territory. It's typical of an arrogant sod like Arthur that this is his way of saying 'I need you,' but Merlin can hardly concentrate on that right now, not when Arthur is tonguing at his slit, fist sliding fast and dry.

"Possessive bastard," Merlin groans. When he looks down Arthur's staring back at him with hungry eyes that scream 'mine'.

Somehow they both manage to miss the flicker of a shadow passing across the mirror. A shimmer of light that could almost be the glint of a smile reflected in the glass as Merlin tightens his fingers in Arthur's hair and comes with a strangled cry.


	6. Part C (clean)

**43.**

She came like she was the only person who had ever come in the history of the world, and the only person that ever truly would. Her cunt squeezed at him, pulled at his cock until he believed it, too, until he _believed_ and he would _witness_ , and he would be one of her children forever.

*

“Mama,” he murmured desperately into her breasts, sucking a bruise into the underside of one. He felt fiercely possessive, fiercely hers, and so ready for her to envelop him. For her to keep him from flying apart. “Please…”

She took pity on him, or maybe on herself, and rose above his body. “My name,” she said finally, as she sank down onto his cock, “is Lilith.”

*

Her nails dragged through his hair, and he pulled away, letting her be caught by the aftershocks of her orgasm alone. He knew he needed to get on with it, and fuck how he wanted to, but he’d got her talking, and he always wanted stories out of people. Human being stories, a friend of his had once called them. The true essence, whether it be factual or not.

“Did you hate him?” he asked, lips against the rough hair guarding her cunt, the air expelled by his words making her body contract one last time.

“I could’ve been mother to them all.” Then she pulled and pushed and they were rolling, and she was on top of him, her body warm and heavy and wet. “I very nearly killed him.”

*

“Where’d the father go?” he asked, greedy, as he mouthed at her collarbone, lapped at her armpit, pushed his nose into the rough stubble there.

She stretched languorously and he felt it all along his body while he moved. “I slept with his brother.”

The skin of her stomach smelled like honey. “So he left you?”

“So to speak. Wouldn’t you?”

He grunted his assent; he was lying. Her thighs pressed against his neck. Her cunt tasted of mangos.

He didn’t even like mangos.

*

She kissed like she was the last person that ever would kiss, soft and slow and hurtful like the end of the world. He cupped her breasts with his hands, unable to stop himself from dropping awkwardly to taste them. She cried out when he used teeth, and the fingers he dipped into her folds came away soaked.

They stumbled into a door, and as he reached to open it she clapped her hand over his mouth. “Not in there,” she whispered, her breath hot and dry in his nose. He saw a picture on the door, a child’s scrawl. “Anywhere but there.”

*

She let him into her flat carelessly, gracelessly. Flung away her shirt and left the front door unlocked. “You can fuck me, but you have to eat me out first.” She ran a finger across his lips. “I’d so very much like that.”

*

“Come home with me,” he said, and he ignored the queens’ catcalls, ignored everything but her answer.

She laughed, but it was delighted, not hurtful. “Oh, love, no.”

He clawed at the light, took her hand in his. “Take me to your place, then.”

She searched his eyes, and he found things he’d never known he’d locked up.

“All right. For tonight.”

*

He’ll always swear he was drunk when he met her.

“Mama!” the drag queen bellowed sharply across the room. “Mama, you have to meet this one!” She turned back to him, stepping so close her silver lashes brushed his cheek. He wondered for a moment what they’d feel like on his cock. “He is _delicious_.”

Despite it all, he found himself blushing.

Then, when he saw _her_ , he forgot what it even meant to blush. She was small, and her eyes shone, and every single person in the room would’ve died for her in an instant.

The silver queen looped her sparkling boa around Mama’s waist and dragged her to them; she laughed throatily and he was so in love it hurt to breathe.

“Why, hello there,” she said to him softly. “You _are_ delicious.”

“Thank you,” he said. There was no stammer at all. She was perfect, and she made everyone else perfect, too. “My name is Will.”

“Nice to meet you, Will,” she answered. Her smile was words enough for centuries. “My name is Hunith. But you can call me Mama.”

* * *

**44.**

**Reynardine**

The dark figure of a man slips out from behind a tree and blocks Will’s path. It’s too dark for Will to make out the stranger’s features as he speaks, his voice deep and husky.

“It’s late for you to be out alone, boy.”

“I’m not a boy,” Will bristles. “I’m fine, I know these woods.

“There are things in the forest at night that are best avoided.” The man steps closer. Will’s senses are on alert, telling him that maybe this man is one of those things. But then he smiles, teeth glinting in the twilight. “I live close by. I can put you up for the night and offer you a meal. Unless of course your mother will be worrying...”

Will squares his shoulders. “She knows I can take care of myself.”

~R~

“You live here?” Will fails to hide his disbelief.

The walls are mostly ivy covered, but even so... Will can’t believe that he didn’t know this ancient-looking building was here. He thought he knew every inch of the forest around his home. He feels a chill of unease.

The man, Gwaine, as Will now knows him, laughs. “It’s a roof over my head -- and yours tonight.” He claps Will on the shoulder and his hand is warm through the thin fabric as it lingers there.

Some furs by the fireplace and a low table are the only home comforts, but it’s warm and dry. Gwaine offers Will cold meat and bread with red wine to wash it down. He refills Will’s cup when it’s empty and Will enjoys the rich, dark taste.

He studies Gwaine in the flickering light from the fire. His face is long and vulpine, his eyes dark, and his mane of hair is deep reddish-brown. Gwaine grins knowingly at Will and his teeth flash, sharp and white, and Will realises he’s staring. He feels a jolt of heat in his belly, and his face flames as he gulps at his wine again.

Will is drifting, distanced from reality as the wine dulls his senses. He lies back on the furs and stares at the ceiling as the room swirls around him. He hears Gwaine’s chuckle, and then a dark shape looms over him and a rough hand touches his cheek.

“Alright there, boy?”

“I’m not a boy,” Will smiles hazily and reaches up to run his fingers through Gwaine’s hair, tangling them in the thick strands as Gwaine’s face gets closer. Their lips meld in a kiss that tastes of wine and wanting and Will arches into Gwaine’s touch.

Gwaine strips them both bare. He crawls over Will’s pliant body, kissing and licking and breathing in every inch of him. When he nuzzles into the hair at Will’s groin and licks at his prick, Will cries out and pushes into the heat of Gwaine’s mouth, desperate for more. His thighs are spread apart by strong hands and oil-slick fingers tease him open. The sharp stretch and sting is nothing compared to the wonder of Gwaine’s mouth on his cock, and Will whimpers when Gwaine pulls off, his lips wet and shining in the firelight.

“You beautiful boy,” he murmurs, moving up Will’s body. Will feels the hot slide of Gwaine’s cock up his thigh until it’s pressing against his hole. “So ready for this.”

He pushes in smoothly with one long thrust, making Will gasp. It’s too much and his fingers dig into Gwaine’s hips. Gwaine lowers his head to kiss Will again, lips soft and gentle as he rocks carefully into him. With each movement the pain is less and the pleasure builds, and soon Will is spilling, hot and wet between them. Gwaine follows with a harsh cry as he empties himself into Will with his last few thrusts.

Will is boneless, sated; already half asleep as Gwaine pulls out and curls around him, holding him close.

~R~

Will stirs.

He’s naked but covered by a warm fur. He sits up, taking in the clearing where he lies, the remains of a fire beside him and his clothes in a neat pile. But he’s outdoors, and alone. He frowns, confused, head full of disjointed dream-memories. As he moves to pull on his breeches he feels slickness between his thighs and a pleasant ache of muscles rarely used.

A rustle in the bushes nearby makes Will turn his head, and he just catches the flash of white teeth and a dark red coat as a fox disappears into the undergrowth.

* * *

**45.**

Nothing beats waking up with the sun in his face. Arthur's away on business but Merlin still feels sore enough from the see-you-again-soon fuck to remember him well enough. They fucked an hour before Arthur left, against the balcony doors with the flat lit and all of London watching.

_you should see this place,_ Merlin texts Gwaine, then tosses his phone on the bed, rolls over and buries his face in the pillow again.

"There's something about you," Artur said when they first met in town, standing outside a pub, Merlin with a beer in hand and Arthur charming in his suit and the sun catching in his hair.

Merlin's phone vibrates with a reply. _Tosser_. Merlin grins at the phone as he rolls out of bed and pads into the kitchen, makes some coffee and some porridge for himself. Bare-arsed he jumps up on the counter and eats as he looks around the empty flat.

Nothing's out of place. Everything neat and tidied away and sorted. Merlin slides off the counter and takes his coffee round the flat, has a poke at some of the photos (his father, his mother, his half-sister in a black frame), pulls a few drawers open, then wanders down the corridor towards the back of the flat.

"Just a few spare rooms," Arthur said during the brief tour. "I'd prefer you staying out." Then they fucked in the kitchen amidst the chopped onions and green peppers for Arthur's roast.

Still naked, a bit bored and whole lot more curious, Merlin takes his coffee past the first few doors: closet, spare bedroom, office space, in that order, and Merlin's not much interested in Arthur's finances.

The last door is locked though. Merlin sips from his cup and glances back towards the main part of the flat, then back at the door in front of him and tries the handle again. Still locked.

"Someone's keeping secrets," Merlin whispers under his breath, studies the lock, and he shouldn't do this because there are laws and there's privacy and Gaius will kill him if he ever gets caught. It only takes a moment though, and the door moves to open as he presses down on the handle. "Should keep your doors locked, Arthur," Merlin says, grinning, and pokes his head inside.

The room is dark, no windows. Merlin feels for a lightswitch next to the door but can't find one, so just pushes the door open further for the sunlight from the corridor to spill inside. The light creeps across the floor, pure black turning into dark grey, then lighter grey.

Then the stench hits, and Merlin's on his knees on the floor, retching his stomach out as his coffee cup shatters next to him, splashing coffee over himself and the floor and--

Merlin looks up, on hands and knees with bile forcing its way up his throat, mind whirring. He looks from one end of the room to the next as his eyes adapt to the semi-darkness, his own shadow spilling out grotesque in front of him. Arthur's half-sister is on the very right, he recognises her from the photo, face perfectly preserved even as her body is cut up beyond all imagination; a girl next to her, blond and pretty; next to her a boy, hardly even sixteen with dark hair and wide eyes, eyeballs only with the lids cut away.

"I told you not to go looking down here," Arthur's voice comes from behind him, and his shadow covers all of Merlin's, all of the spilled coffee.

"No," Merlin turns around, scrambling, not quite sure what is happening, only knowing that this can't--

"I knew there was something about you. Not everyone can open this door," Arthur says and steps in closer and closer, too fast for Merlin to scramble away, and grabs Merlin's hip and pulls him in, kisses him, grabs at his cock and jerks him roughly. "You were feeding it all to me as we were fucking, with every bit of come, every kiss, weren't you? Trying to poison me with it? Witchcraft."

"No, nononono," Merlin tries to say, barely gets out the sounds as Arthur pushes him back and Merlin's legs up and thrusts his cock into Merlin's arse dry. _Someone, please someone_ , Merlin thinks, and his phone rings in Arthur's bed over the harsh sounds of Arthur's breath, Arthur's fingers on Merlin's neck and Arthur's wild, crazy face as he keeps thrusting.

Merlin's phone rings, and no one answers.

* * *

**46.**

Once upon a time, in a castle far, far away, there lived a king and his six knights. (Well, technically, the castle was just a hop, skip and jump away from current England, but those armours made hopping, skipping and jumping rather tricky, so it would have seemed far away, anyway. Also, the six knights were really more like four knights and a ghost, and some guy nobody knew who loomed impressively and always dressed in black, but hey, he’d yet to lose a single fight, so loom on, Arthur liked to say. )

But anyway, these seven guys lived together more or less harmoniously, until one day, there was a knock on the castle door. (The previous king had some sort of mental breakdown that caused him to flame random persons he didn’t like. After that, people just weren’t that into visiting the castle.)

Arthur, being a wise king, heeded his father’s warnings about strangers knocking on doors, and didn’t just open it.

“Who’s there?” he called out. “Are you a big bad sorcerer?”

“Er,” said the voice on the other side, “No?”

“He seems to be on the scrawny side, sire,” said Lancelot, who never needed to knock on doors because he could just walk through them.

“Hmph,” said Arthur, and opened the door just a little. The stranger gave him an innocent-looking smile.

“ _Hmph_ ,” said Arthur.

“Hi!” said the stranger, adding an innocent-looking grin to his repertoire. “Apple?”

“What do you want?”

“Uh, I’m offering you apples?” he said, deflating a little. “Or, well, selling them. I sell apples. It’s what I do. It’s a thing, you see. Some of us have to work so as not to starve.”

“…”

“… Er, My Lord.”

As destiny would have it, just as Arthur was about to come up with a brilliant retort (of mythical proportions, one might say; mythical being the operative word), Gwaine walked into the room. Apples were Gwaine’s favourite.

In less than a fraction of a candle, the stranger was sitting at the table, and becoming much less of a stranger as they all munched on apples – albeit reluctantly, in Arthur’s case. He was regretting the whole round table thing; but he’d been outvoted, and fair was fair. Also, Gwaine would nag at him forever (give or take) if he didn’t give in.

“… and that’s why this whole no magic thing is just a load of bollocks,” Merlin said.

“How dare you,” Arthur said and got up. Well, part of him got up. As these things go, it was rather inconvenient. He’d probably been focusing on Merlin’s lush, traitorous lips a little too much. He snapped himself out of it and focused on the rest of Merlin’s traitorous body.

“Huh,” said Percival, and pointed at his own lap.

Then they all got up (all of them, this time. Well, all of all of them) and looked at each other’s laps.

“Huh,” said Merlin, frowning and examining one of the apples. “It was just supposed to make you more amenable to suggestion.”

“… _What?_ ” said Arthur, desperately trying to ignore his rebelling crotch. “Sorcerer!”

“Oh, well!” said Merlin and threw the apple over his shoulder before grabbing Gwaine’s shirt and dragging him over the table for a snog.

Arthur would like to say Gwaine put up a manly fight. He supposed it could be called a fight if you squinted and looked at it sideways in the reflection of a sword. Well, Gwaine definitely jumped Merlin. And kept Merlin from chanting any spells – with his cock.

Merlin definitely had a very enchanting mouth; a very greedy, enchanting mouth. Gwaine’s cock couldn’t be working right – the sounds Merlin was making wove their way into Arthur’s blood like a spell; the flush on his cheeks was mesmerising.

“Oh, God,” said Arthur. Percival moaned. Leon stared. Lancelot hovered in an aroused sort of way. Tristan loomed. Elyan lazily spread his legs and cupped the back of Merlin’s head.

Merlin swallowed them down one by one (even Lancelot. Arthur didn’t ask how), until it was Arthur’s turn.

“No,” said Arthur. “You’re a sorcerer.”

“Uh, so?” said Merlin. Arthur couldn’t argue with that logic. Arthur’s laces somehow came undone. He wasn’t entirely sure it was due to magic. Merlin’s tongue was definitely magic, and the pleasure that burst through him had to be, too.

His father was wrong: magic was brilliant, he thought, and both he and Merlin got their happy ending.

And they lived happily ever after. (Well, they had a lot of fun for a while, anyway.)

* * *

**47.**

Arthur found the river only a few years after he’d arrived, which in Underworld terms was practically nothing. He sat by the river with his chin on his knees, watching the water and wondering if he would ever get to go back. Nothing ever happened in this place, and he missed the action of Camelot.

The boat came of something as a surprise to him. It came down the river slowly, nearly blinding him with its bright cargo. Behind the glowing ball of light sat a man… or something like a man, anyway, with the head of a falcon that turned to watch him as it passed.

Arthur wasn’t really sure what to think about it, but as he watched the bird go past he felt like there was something familiar about it.

***

The boat passed by every night, and every night the bird would turn to watch him. After a few nights, much to Arthur’s surprise, it spoke. “What is your name?”

“Arthur,” he replied, startled. “And yours?”

“Ra,” the bird replied, and then, almost shyly, “But you can call me Merlin.”

And then the boat was gone.

***

“Why do you do this?” Arthur asked, walking alongside the slow moving boat. He was fairly sure that it was being moved with magic, but considering he was in the Underworld and dead, he figured he could look past that.

“Not like I have much choice,” Merlin snorted. “I’m the god of the sun. It’s kind of what I do. I have to take the sun to be put back in the sky.”

“Doesn’t that get boring?”

Merlin shrugged. “Not lately.” Then he looked away, embarrassed.

***

One day, Arthur didn’t recognize the man in the boat. It was no longer the falcon-headed god, but a young, pale boy with sparking, kohl-rimmed blue eyes. He was gorgeous, and Arthur’s heart skipped a beat even as he asked, “Where’s Merlin?”

“Oh, it’s still me!” Merlin grinned. “I thought you might like this form better.” He looked up from under his dark eyelashes. “Do you?”

Arthur felt tight all over. “Uh… yeah. Yeah, I do.”

***

“Can I come with you?”

Merlin looked surprised, but after a minute said, “I don’t see why not. Come on in.”

Arthur climbed into the boat. It wobbled a little under the extra weight, but settled quickly.

It was small enough that their knees were knocking together as they continued the trip. Merlin was strangely quiet, but after a moment he reached out and took Arthur’s hand in his. “I’m glad you asked to come,” he said. “It’s gotten quite lonely, doing this every night by myself.”

He looked so earnest that Arthur couldn’t help but lean forward and place a gentle kiss on those bowed lips. “Well, I’m here now.”

***

Arthur wasn’t allowed to leave the Underworld, but he would wait at the mouth of the river every night and make the journey with Merlin. Sometimes they would even have to fight monsters away from the sun on the way, including a giant snake that slightly reminded Arthur of Morgana.

One day, just as they had defeated the serpent yet again, Merlin suddenly turned to Arthur and pushed him down into the bottom of the boat. Arthur wasn’t surprised – this had been a long time coming. Laughing with leftover adrenaline, he pushed down Arthur’s trousers, hiked up his own loincloth, and just began rutting them together.

The first touch of Merlin’s skin sent fizzles down Arthur’s spine, and in no time he was panting and writhing his way towards release, gripping at Merlin’s thin hips. It was an understatement to say it had been a while.

Merlin pressed against him, and the feeling of Merlin’s hard cock rubbing against his own was literally all it took to send Arthur spiraling off into climax. After, he just laid there and enjoyed the feeling of Merlin’s slick flesh and the look of pure pleasure crossing Merlin’s face as he brought himself to climax, making the boat rock with his final vicious thrust.

A splash and a succinct “shit” from Merlin brought Arthur back to his senses in a rush.

Arthur peered over the edge and watched the sun slowly sink into the water. “We’re going to have to get that back, aren’t we?”

“Uh, yeah.” Merlin was already pulling off the rest of his loincloth and getting ready to dive in. Arthur sighed and followed suit.

At least the Underworld wasn’t boring anymore.

* * *

**48.**

“You need more books.”

“Er...who are you?” Merlin asked, almost dropping his tea. He looked at the blonde man currently inspecting his pitiful library.

“I’m a familiar. You can call me Arthur.”

“Sorry what?”

“Familiar? You know, supernatural entities that assist sorcerers in the practice of magic?” The man frowned at Merlin, looking him up and down. “You are Merlin the sorcerer, aren’t you?”

“Yes? I mean. Yes, I am. But I don’t know anything about a familiar?”

Merlin really needed to sit down. Gorgeous men did not appear in his living room on a regular basis, he really wasn’t sure what the script was.

“So what - you’re here to be a butler?”

“Try ordering me to make you a cup of tea, see what happens,” Arthur said, menacingly.

“So..why are you here, exactly?” Merlin then realised how it sounded. “I mean, not that I’m complaining, it’s just. You’ve never shown up before? And I’ve been doing magic a long time.”

Arthur shrugged. “Maybe you’ll need me soon.”

###

 

_...Residents claim that the recent rash of missing people is due to a creature that lives in the local woods. Investigators are said to be following several leads..._

“How’s your knowledge of magical creatures?” Arthur asked, after the news turned to the economy.

“It’s alright. I’ve got a couple of bestiaries. Wait, you think that creature’s real _and_ magical?”

“I think it’s something worth investigating.”

Merlin frowned at Arthur. “I suppose it can’t do any harm.”

“That’s the spirit.” Arthur said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll start packing.”

###

The residents of the village were both terrified and suspicious. It wasn’t until Merlin pulled out the paraphernalia he’d packed that they were willing to help them.

He let the residents pore through his books until they settled on an image that fit the creature who’d been snatching people - a manticore.

Merlin’s heart sank as he read the description; _The manticore is impervious to all but the most powerful charms._

###

 

Merlin stared at the powerful spell on the page.

“Look, maybe we should call someone else. I’m really not sure – this is huge. There’s no way we can tackle this. I’ve never used my magic to kill a mouse never mind a manticore,” Merlin said, pushing his chair back. “This magic, it’s way beyond me.”

“We can’t give up now, we have to try and help these people,” Arthur said. “I’ve got faith in you. We can do this.”

“Alright. Ok. I’m going to need to practise.”

###

 

“Argh!” Merlin flopped face-down on the bed, hands fisted in his hair. “This is ridiculous.”

“You’re getting there, come on.”

“You go on.” Merlin snapped childishly. He was sore and tired and nowhere near to getting the stupid charm to work.

“Let me help.” Arthur said, coming to sit next to him.

“I’m not sure what else you can do.” Merlin said, letting Arthur roll him over.

“Oh, really,” Arthur murmured, leaning down to kiss him.

“Arthur-”

“Be quiet, Merlin.” Arthur kissed him again. Merlin wrapped a hand around Arthur’s neck, pushing closer.

Merlin writhed as Arthur’s hands slipped under his shirt, caressing him. Arthur slid a knee between his legs, and Merlin pressed up feeling his hardening cock drag against his boxers, making him shudder.

Arthur continued to tease. He sucked a bruise into Merlin’s neck and pinched at his nipples, all the while keeping up a steady friction against his erection.

“Come on, try now.”

“Now?” Merlin asked, whining as Arthur pulled away.

“I’ll blow you if you do it. Come on.” Arthur pulled Merlin up. Merlin glared at him, but raised a hand and incanted.

A wind whipped up, flinging books and papers around the room. All of Merlin’s hair stood on end and he gasped as his magic reared up in him, stronger than he’d ever felt. He stopped, reining it in, dizzy with it.

“I think that’s it.” He panted.

“Brilliant!” Arthur said, pulling him into a kiss.

Merlin squirmed against him, hands cupping Arthur’s arse.

“I believe you promised me a blow job.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Arthur said, falling to his knees.

He undid Merlin’s trousers and mouthed at Merlin’s erection, pulling it out of his boxers. Merlin gasped and cupped Arthur’s face.

“Not gonna last.”

Arthur just hummed and took him deeper, swallowing around him.

Merlin’s orgasm tore through him, heightened by his magic, he cried out, hoarse as he arched up, Arthur swallowed it all before pulling back. Merlin tugged him up and into a kiss, groaning as he tasted himself on Arthur’s tongue.

“Let’s go kill a monster.”

* * *

**49.**

Being an elf in the current age isn't easy.

Morris is perfectly content to slap together Crocs and flip-flops. George produces marvels of podiatric artistry like they did in the olden days, but they must always be affixed with the Nike logo, and are always boxed the same as factory-built rubbish.

People these days don’t appreciate elf-made shoes like they used to.

"Don't you have any pride in your work?" Merlin asks George. "Don't you think it deserves better?"

"I am but a humble shoemaking dwarf," George says, nose in the air. "I don't need others to recognize my perfection."

Gaius gives Merlin a disapproving eyebrow from the corner where he's stitching together a Nike swoop.

And so it goes, until the day Merlin packs his bag of tools and sets out, leaving the sneaker factory and setting out for the big city.

After a time of wandering, he happens upon a small workroom decorated in leather, with shoes on every wall. There are cherry red peeptoes and sinister stilettos, shoes worked like steel lace, boots that could crush a man's head like an egg underfoot. Each pair has Merlin itching with desire, but they all pale in comparison to the unfinished pair lying on the table—the room's centerpiece, dark and powerful with sex worked into every careful seam.

Merlin sees them, and can't help himself.

===

Morgana is a shoemaker (she prefers _designer_ ), and, in her spare time, a dominatrix. She thus appreciates the value of a good thigh-high boot.

And the boots currently sitting in the center of her workstation, embossed with black leather and laced suggestively all the way up, put _good_ to shame. They are magnificent, each utter works of art.

They were supposed to have been _Morgana’s_ works of art. She is offended even as she itches to slide them onto her feet and lace them up. She knows the leather is softer than butter.

“Elves,” she hisses, snatching up the boots.

Drastic times call for drastic measures.

===

The sight of the boots lying in the bin the following night draws a distraught moan from Merlin’s throat. The sight of the blue pumps on the table, however, draws a gasp. They ooze class, clearly stitched in a frenzy of shoemaking passion, and yet with immaculate precision.

They are also quite pointedly finished.

“So it’s a throwdown, hmm?” Merlin says. He rubs his hands together.

===

The shoes from the ensuing battle will later be collected into the le Fay _Elven_ line, and sell collectively for over a million pounds. Morgana will spend half the money in support of various charities and the rest on designer gowns and sex toys.

In the meantime, however, there is a war to win.

If Morgana were her brother, she would fight fairly and honourably. But because she is herself, and not Arthur (or stupid), she does what she has to.

She hides her favourite fabrics before the elf comes out at night, stowing away all her tools and crystals and even all her metal heel reinforcements. It all seems for naught, however—the fabrics are always gone from their hiding place in the morning; the elf seems to have his own set of tools; and without the materials to make a heel, the elf outdoes himself by presenting an absolutely luscious pair of flats. Morgana has to quickly try them on once before tossing them, cursing her weakness.

The next logical step is confrontation and possibly a catfight, clearly, only Morgana doesn’t expect—

“You’re naked!” she shrieks, when the elf materializes into the room in a not-nearly-opaque-enough cloud of smoke.

“You’re not supposed to be here!” the elf shrieks in return, skittering backward, and then tripping over Morgana’s tripwire.

It is a chance, so she quickly ties the elf’s wrists together as planned with a pair of shoelaces. Then she pauses.

“I thought elves were supposed to be tiny, and live in little holes or something,” she admits.

“Magic,” the elf says, as if she’s some sort of idiot. “Of course we’re the same size as you. How could we work staple guns or anything if we were tiny?”

“I don’t know,” she says acidly. “Magic?”

They stare at each other for a moment, assessing.

“Your... _shoes_... are really sexy,” the elf says, face pink.

“Want to fuck?” Morgana says. The elf is quite nice-looking all over, really, so there’s no reason not to be direct.

“Only if you wear the boots,” says the elf.

She does.

* * *

**50.**

He felt the first seal snap like bone breaking.

The air was charged; practically vibrating as the white horse came screaming out of exile. Merlin closed his eyes and imagined the way her black hair streaming behind her. _Conquest_ , Merlin knew her from the time before when she’d been Morgana.

It was starting. Places to be, hell to spawn.

Merlin was holding the baby destroyer of worlds (and he had the biggest blue eyes you could imagine on the Prince of Darkness, Merlin tickled under his chin and cooed and hoped that Mordred wouldn’t remember when he grew up and reduced the realm of mortal men to nothing).

In the old tongue her name was Morgause, and her horse was deep rusted red-brown as if it had been dyed in the blood of the slain. They called her War. He flushed hot as the seal snapped, fire licking at his skin-- he almost drove into oncoming traffic.

Couldn’t put it off anymore.

He had his hand on the door-handle when the third seal snapped like a brittle twig; they were gathering force and speed. Famine unleashed on her black horse its ebony horn and her pale fey silence.

It’s been fifty-and-change years since they’d last seen each other, Merlin sulking across the globe and throwing himself into this and that as only the truly hedonist can. Arthur’s store looked like a dungeon, tucked away in the bottom of a building like something forgotten by time. It sold antique weapons but Arthur was usually too surly-bordering-on-hostile to close deals. It didn’t bother him; he liked to maintain them. Merlin liked to make jokes about polishing swords that Arthur pretended he was too dignified to understand.

“Oi, twat-face.” Merlin called into the shop, it seemed to suck his voice out of the very air. “Come out here, I’m sorry about the Internet, just come talk.” He hadn’t meant to create it’d been a by-product of the Cold War. It wasn't _all_ evil.

Arthur may have been the angel, but he sucked cock like nothing else. His eyes were so blue staring up at him. That colour didn’t exist anywhere else. _Merlin’s looked._

The sensation was purely human, nothing but synapses and chemicals going absolutely wild in his brain-- and this was why Merlin couldn’t stand the thought of losing the mortal plane. Arthur choked; eyes huge and watery. Merlin pushed his fringe away from his forehead and Arthur hummed low in his throat. Arthur looked so serene, jaw slack and cheeks flushed.

“That’s right.” Merlin sighed, pressing his fingers against the skin of Arthur’s jaw and feeling himself thick and all stuffed in here.

They could have done this all night, only Merlin’s spine was full of electricity and he was on the edge of cracking apart. Arthur seemed intent on waging the entire war with the tight squeeze of his throat.

Merlin came with a wordless shout in a language that was comprised of nothing but mixed up sounds and no meaning.

He slid down the case to sit at the bottom of Excalibur while Arthur messed up the flawless glass with a sweaty handprint so he could jerk off all over Merlin’s upturned face. He could will away the sticky mess or he could scoop it up with his fingers and suck it off in wet pops while making jokes about nectar.

“Not funny.” Arthur huffed, hair all over the place and mouth swollen. Merlin sucked on his bottom lip, chasing the salt taste of himself there. Arthur curled big hands around his hips while they kissed, argument forgotten.

The fourth seal snapped and Arthur winced hard, head slamming into the case as he jerked away from Merlin. It felt like being dipped all over in ice. Merlin couldn’t breathe for long moments as it echoed across the multi-verse, every string in the fabric of every reality ringing with the bell’s toll.

The pale horse ride forward, sallow yellow coat and rider wrapped in black cloth. She was beautiful underneath it all but what she touched turned to dust Hades followed in her wake. The tragic Guinevere.

“We’re going to win the war.” Arthur stated simply.

“You don’t really want that.” Merlin purred, licking Arthur’s chin. They both knew what the breaking of the seals meant and the four riders. There would be destruction and the final tally would be counted, the fabric of this reality warping and bending under the strain.

“It’s destiny.”

“ _Fuck._ That.”

* * *

**51.**

Loki wakes- no, that isn’t the right word. Loki is _yanked_ into existence, screaming loud enough to wake the gods, eyes shuttered against the too-bright Midgardian light. Loki’s body is what humans call female; it is tiny and weak and utterly defenceless against the world it has been thrust into.

Thor is born a few years later, and Loki (Morgana, that is what this body is called, _Morgana_ ) knows him instantly, even with his mortal shell.

Morgana knows him, because for the first time since she drew breath, she does not feel alone.

~

They grow up together, like siblings, laughing and squabbling together, and it is not unlike a childhood of forever ago, a childhood they have only hazy memories of which fade with every passing day, until they are barely children still and Arthur, Thor, _Arthur_ says, “do you remember?” and Morgana just shakes her head, the uncomfortable weight of something forgotten sitting heavy on her shoulders.

They crawl into bed together, because they do not yet know what it means to sleep next to another person; they are only desperately longing for something they have never known but can almost find, curled together in each others’ arms, an innocent embrace.

The second time they share a bed is far from innocent. Arthur is fifteen and he has killed his first man, watched him bleed at the tip of his sword and the light dim in his eyes, and he cannot stop shaking. Morgana holds him tight and strokes his hair and whispers platitudes she knows he doesn’t hear and when that doesn’t work, she kisses him.

It is something she remembers – the warmth of his mouth against hers, the slide of their bodies, the way he sobs when she sinks down onto him – but it is not something she knows, and afterwards, when she has taken him to pieces underneath her and he is quiet and at peace, she squeezes her eyes shut and reaches for the memories that are almost within her grasp, but when she looks, she only has Arthur.

~

They grow older and older, but as well as growing up they grow apart and something in Morgana aches, the part of her that whispers in the night of another world, a better world, of a tree whose branches reach into the heavens, of the palaces of the gods drenched in blood, and Morgana always wakes weeping, a sharp, bitter longing clawing at her throat.

And then everything is shattered and reformed and shattered all over again and Morgana burns with a fierce, righteous hatred that is familiar and not all at once, for this man she called, calls, _will always call_ brother.

~

The battle, when it comes, is a disappointment. It is only death and death and yet more death and it does nothing to dispel the ache in Morgana’s chest, to break the chains that have restrained her from the day she was born.

The battle, when it comes, is entirely predictable, and Morgana’s skin prickles with a familiarity she is long used to but still no closer to understanding.

And then she runs Arthur through with her blade and watches him choke on his own blood with an empty kind of satisfaction that lasts until he reaches up with an almighty, inhuman strength and stabs her in the heart.

They crumple together on the ground, a parody of an embrace, their foreheads almost touching.

“Arthur,” Morgana manages, but the first syllable comes out mangled and only the second is really audible over the noise of the battle, and shocked recognition brightens Arthur’s eyes.

“You,” he whispers, like he can scarcely believe it, and his face cracks in a smile she hasn’t seen in far, far too long. He presses that smile into her mouth, her cheek, her neck, his ragged breath tickling her skin.

“You,” she echoes, and smiles back at him as the horn is blown and the world is split asunder.

* * *

**52.**

Gwen hissed through her teeth as her fingers danced over the ragged edges of the ripped cable. That wasn't shrapnel. Those were _teeth marks_.

"Dad? Dad!" she shouted, already running for the main hangar.

 

+++

"Gremlins," Tom told the Squadron Leader quietly. "They've got into at least three birds, plus a jeep."

Leon looked like he'd just sucked a lemon. "I'll tell the Commander."

 

+++

Wing Commander Arthur Pendragon was not having a good day. He had three aircraft grounded for no obvious reason (other than the shredded cables that were dripping fuel and other limited supplies), a pre-mission briefing tomorrow, and dinner tonight with his-father-the-Admiral, who always wondered (aloud) why Arthur had gone in for the RAF instead of becoming a Navy pilot like any sane young man would.

"Leon," Arthur said quietly, almost plaintively.

"Sir," Leon agreed. There was nothing else to be done. Only one thing stopped Gremlins.

"I'll requisition the grease, sir."

 

+++

"Miss," Gwen said cheerfully, shifting herself between Morgana and the hangar, "you don't want to be going in there tonight."

Morgana's eyes narrowed. "Don't I? Arthur managed to wriggle out of dinner with Father on the grounds of needing to personally supervise maintenance before a mission." Her lips quirked. "But if you're out here and not working inside, then I think the 'personal' part is the only truth."

"No, no, his job is very important!" Gwen bit her lip, then she leaned forward conspiratorially. "We have gremlins," she whispered.

Morgana grew a line between her eyebrows that said she was growing impatient. "Children's stories told by men who-"

Gwen shook her head. "No, I've seen their work. C'mon, I'll show you."

 

+++

From her current peephole, Morgana could see rather a lot. Rather a lot more of her adoptive brother than she had ever planned on, frankly.

"Is that kitchen grease?" she wondered aloud. Gwen nodded, smiling nervously.

 

+++

Elyan grunted, his lapful of squirming Percy feeling just this side of too much. "Oh god, don't stop moving, just-" He grabbed Percy's hips, holding on until they stopped twisting and just lifted up and drove back down, still entirely too good but no longer likely to make Elyan explode in the next five seconds.

Beside him, Lancelot groaned, eyes half-lidded and hazy. Elyan had to agree that Arthur always looked particularly delicious with a cock stuffed in each end, spitted and swaying on his hands and knees like he was drunk on sex. His body language didn't so much say _Wing Commander_ as sex toy. It was a good look on him.

Gwaine looked to be having fun too, bouncing cheerfully deeper into Arthur's peach-plump arse with each stroke of his cock. On the far side of them, Leon was holding his own cock gently, rubbing it just enough to soothe but not enough to get off. He liked to wait and take Gwaine's sloppy seconds, when Arthur was all stretched out and a little puffed up from the reaming Gwaine had given him, come still sliding slowly out.

Percy grunted and squeezed Elyan's shoulders with his massive paws, and Elyan jerked back to himself, focusing on the feel of being ridden by the biggest, most enthusiastic cowboy this side of the Atlantic.

Fuck yeah, he loved gremlins.

 

+++

Morgana drew back into the shadows. "That's how you rid your squadron of mechanical failures?"

Gwen nodded. "Works every time."

 

+++

Two weeks later, Morgause teased a cable out from behind the Gladiator's nosecone. Silently, Cenred handed her the serrated bolt-cutters and let her get started. Across the room, Tauren stood guard as Nimueh did the same.

"Works every time," Morgause muttered, scuffing at a spot of kitchen grease on the floor.

* * *

**53.**

Ox Seduction: You’re Doing It Right

“How the fuck did I get reincarnated as a giant, fucking lumberjack?” Arthur asked. He turned his head to look at Babe and rolled his eyes.

“You really are enjoying this, aren’t you?” Arthur yelled into the air, sure Morgana could hear him in Albion. “Just had to make me a fucking freak, didn’t you?”

Arthur dropped his hand onto Babe’s head, patting. “Sorry, buddy, but this is whack.”

The blue ox snorted in exasperation and bumped Arthur’s hand off him.

“Hey!” Arthur cried, indignant. “I was just trying to-” but cut off when he saw the look on Babe’s face. _Ooooh!_

Arthur choked out a laugh. “Merlin? HA! You’re a giant, blue ox!” Tears streamed down his cheeks as he laughed until he couldn’t breathe. Of course, that’s when Merlin’s head knocked into his abdomen, throwing him back on his haunches. The ground beneath him pushed up and mounded behind his head.

When he finally caught his breath, Arthur smirked. He rolled his sleeves up over muscled, hairy forearms and charged, his shoulder pushing into Merlin’s chest and tossing him, pushing up even more of the earth.

Arthur laughed, deep and throaty, and then they were wrestling. They continued on for hours, throwing each other around, laughing and breaking the ground beneath them.

The next morning, they stood atop the Rocky Mountains.

*****  
Wandering with Merlin was what he enjoyed best, even if he was a giant, blue ox. Merlin couldn’t respond with anything more than huffs and snorts, but it didn’t stop Arthur from talking like a jackrabbit on caffeine.

Arthur wondered where everyone else was; if they’d been reincarnated, too, and if they knew Arthur and Merlin were the giant Paul Bunyan and Babe. He wondered what they would say or how they would react. If they even knew who they really were. Each thought was more depressing than the next, until Arthur was dragging his ax behind them, somber.

Then there was Merlin, loping beside him and he felt better. He wrapped his free arm around Merlin’s solid shoulders and said, “At least we have each other.” Merlin rolled his eyes, making Arthur laugh and heft his ax onto his shoulder.

But not before creating the Grand Canyon.

*****  
The blizzard came out of nowhere and Arthur turned as blue as Merlin while they got hopelessly lost.

The biting wind and cold whipped around them and Arthur pressed his frigid nose into Merlin’s back. Thankfully, Merlin was warm and Arthur wanted to wrap himself around him like coat. Instead his cold hands wrapped around his warm middle and hugged tightly. And if Arthur closed his eyes, it was almost as if he could pretend Merlin were human. Almost.

Arthur sighed.

Later, when they were out of the blizzard safe, they looked back and saw their large footprints trailing in circles behind them, forming the land of 10,000 lakes (Minnesota).

*****  
Arthur flung himself onto the ground and refused to move, pouting. “This is stupid. I just want to be human! Is that too much to ask! I _need_ you.” God, this sucked.

It was quiet for a long time and Arthur let his head hang. He really was glad to be reborn again, but he hated having Merlin so close and yet.

Merlin’s cool, wet nose pressed against Arthur’s cheek and he brushed it away. “Stop trying to make me feel better, _Mer_ lin,” he drawled, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Merlin licked him across the cheek and Arthur laughed. When he looked up, Merlin was staring at him. And even though his eyes were attached to an ox, they were still Merlin’s. He knew that.

A second later, they flashed gold, and Arthur felt his insides heat and his dick harden between his legs. His eyes widened and he looked at Merlin. He could almost see a smirk there.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Arthur grinned as he undid his overalls and pulled them down, hand wrapping immediately around his throbbing cock. He stroked himself while Merlin looked on. It didn’t take long, under Merlin’s quiet, hot gaze before Arthur was coming, his back arching into the ground, panting out Merlin’s name.

When Arthur had control of his limbs again, he found that he’d left a giant indent in the ground where he’d lay. Using his ax, he dug a channel and watched water pour into the hole.

Merlin drank deeply from Lake Michigan.

* * *

**54.**

Merlin was reading in the living room when it happened.

At first a quiet click of the door, then a shadow sweeping across Merlin’s vision before he could fully register it and a barely audible whisper of his name said with an achingly familiar tone.

“He’s back,” Merlin said to the empty room. “He’s on his way.”

Putting his book down on the table, Merlin collected all the empty tea cups from rooms they didn’t belong to and arranged the flat to look presentable for his more than a little neat freak boyfriend. Arthur knew Merlin wouldn’t clean after himself while he was on his own but preferred coming home when it didn’t look like a hurricane had visited the flat (Arthur’s words, not Merlin’s). Merlin thought about changing clean sheets, but he’d just end up changing them again tomorrow, so he didn’t bother. However, he did put the lube from the bedside table in his pocket just in case.

After 34 minutes of pacing (not that Merlin was counting), the door clicked again and this time it was the real Arthur who stepped in. Merlin bounced in the hallway to welcome him home, and, yes, there it was, Arthur’s voice, a little amused and teasing but affectionate all the same, saying,

“Merlin.”

Merlin had to kiss him then, because he had _missed_ him, damn it! Not that he’d ever admit it out loud, but being apart for days, because Arthur had some stupid business trips and Merlin had to stay back for his own job, never got easier.

Luckily he always knew beforehand when Arthur was coming back. It may have been connected to his magic or the emotional bond between them or it may have not, but somehow Merlin always knew. Sometimes it was a voice, sometimes apparition, sometimes just a feeling, and sometimes all three. When it had happened the first time, Merlin had freaked out and Arthur had not believed it when Merlin had told him, but now they were both used to it. There were weirder things than this happening around Merlin anyway.

Arthur shook off his coat and attacked Merlin’s mouth with his tongue. Carelessly Merlin pushed Arthur against the nearest surface which happened to be a priceless antique table. (Uther and Morgana would never forgive them if they broke it, but Merlin didn’t really care; the table really was hideous, although rather handy in situations like this.) Rubbing his thigh between Arthur’s legs, he quickly opened Arthur’s crisp white shirt and pushed his hands under it.

They didn’t even pretend to get completely undressed. In no time Arthur had pushed his trousers down at his knees, and Merlin had pulled a tube out of his jeans pocket before kicking the garment away.

“You were prepared,” Arthur gasped when Merlin slid a slippery hand to grasp both their cocks while he fondled Arthur’s arse cheek with the other and pulled their bodies closer.

“Always.”

“You knew I was coming? Again?” Arthur breathed out, and Merlin hid a giggle in his neck.

“I don’t need visions to tell when you’re coming,” he said, trying to sound completely serious. Arthur groaned, either at the weak joke or because Merlin had just slipped one finger between his cheeks and pulled it across Arthur’s hole. Arthur covered Merlin’s hand on their cocks with his and squeezed, making Merlin whimper and mouth at his neck.

With a whine he would probably find embarrassing later, Arthur came on his own shirt and Merlin’s hand only a few minutes after returning home. Merlin rutted against Arthur’s hipbone, gasping and withering, Arthur holding him up, until he glanced down and saw his cock, reddened and hard and proud, against the pale skin of Arthur’s hip and soft tan of his hand. After that it took only seconds before his come was mixing with Arthur’s.

Merlin leaned against his boyfriend and kissed him softly in post-orgasmic bliss.

“Hey, you, and welcome home.”

“Hi,” Arthur said breathlessly, pulling his trousers back up (well, they were ready for laundry anyway) and stepping past Merlin to pick up his coat from the floor. “You knew I was coming?”

Merlin nodded.

“I thought we already established that.”

“So you missed me?”

Merlin looked at him with a raised eyebrow and grinned.

“Of course I didn’t. Whatever gave you that idea?”

* * *

**55.**

“I'd like a room,” says the skinny English kid at the front desk.

Arthur has to bite back a scathing retort. He'd been counting down the minutes till he could justify closing up for the night. He plasters on a smile.

“So what brings you to Washington?” Arthur asks as he hands the kid his key.

“Oh,” says the kid, “Bigfoot.”

*

Arthur is used constantly juggling twice-daily phone calls to his father and a steady stream of demands and complaints, but most of the guests keep to themselves.

“These are really good,” Merlin says when Arthur serves him his pancakes. “These are the best.”

“Best pancakes in town.” Arthur hangs by the table for a few seconds. He's curious. It's off-season, and the kid's so young.

“Are you going to stand there and watch me eat?”

“Just wandering what brought you to town,” Arthur asks. “How old are you? You out of school?”

Merlin scowls. “Like I said. Bigfoot.” He pauses. “Just inherited some money.”

*

Merlin does the bigfoot tour, like everyone does, and comes back flushed and excited with a blurry video on his phone that he shoves in Arthur's face. Arthur nods and smiles.

Arthur misses California. He misses spending time with people who haven't known him since he was in diapers. He misses not having to talk to his father twice a day. He misses not working in a goddamn B&B.

*

He takes Merlin out hiking, since Merlin's a city kid and would probably break his neck out in the woods if Arthur left him alone. The next day Merlin comes into the B&B with a plush bigfoot and announces shyly that he's going to name it Arthur.

Arthur _really_ misses California.

*

Merlin finds Arthur's chest hair endlessly amusing. “You're so hairy,” he laughs. “Like a sasquatch.”

“I'm not a fucking sasquatch,” says Arthur, then hisses as Merlin's tongue rasps over his nipple, hot and rough. He shoves Merlin downwards. “Put that tongue to better use, will you?”

“Yes, sir,” says Merlin.

*

After, Arthur feels a sick kind of guilt, because Merlin's so goddamn young, and because Merlin will barely look him in the eye.

*

It's all about terribly timing in the end. Arthur hangs up on his father in mid-argument and punches the stupid, flimsy wall of the B&B, then storms down the corridor and walks straight into Merlin.

“I'm sorry,” Merlin stammers.

“Get out of the way,” Arthur snarls, and Merlin's face twists – he thinks it's him, he thinks Arthur is angry with him.

“I'm sorry,” says Merlin, “I am – what happened – we shouldn'tve. I shouldn't even be here.”

“Yeah?” Arthur doesn't know what else to say.

“I don't give a shit about bigfoot,” Merlin says. “It was my uncle. This was his thing. He always said he'd go. That we'd go. He died last year –” Merlin's voice cracks a little, “– and he left me the money, so – I just got on a plane.”

“That's nice,” says Arthur. He thinks back to all the time he's willed his father to just fucking die already.

“Not really,” says Merlin. “That money was supposed to get me through university. I dropped out. He'd be so angry with me.” He wipes at his face.

“Don't start crying,” says Arthur.

“I'm not crying,” Merlin snaps, a bit too quickly. “I'm running out of money, but I can't go home. I just can't.”

*

Their second time is a little more subdued and a whole lot more awkward. Merlin's elbows keep jabbing at Arthur, and he keeps apologising, every time it happens.

“Sorry, sorry!”

“Stop apologising,” Arthur mutters, and pins Merlin down to the bed. He's a guest, and he's just a kid, and they really shouldn't.

He pushes those thoughts out of his head and gives the most enthusiastic blow job of his life, sucks Merlin's dick until his mouth is burning and Merlin shouts in an adorably British way and comes all over Arthur's face.

Arthur punches the stupid stiff B&B pillow, hard, hard enough that it almost hurts the way he wants it too. Merlin clutches at him, pulling him down into an embrace, mumbling comforting nonsense. _Shh, shh_. It shouldn't help, but it does.

Arthur wants so much to say _stay_ , but he shouldn't.

* * *

**56.**

Arthur takes a last look at his tribesmen standing vigil beside their chief, their hopes resting on Arthur while they wait. He salutes his father, trying to look as brave and fearless as is a chief’s son's duty. Inside he’s terrified.

He ducks into the shaman’s wigwam. A thick, oddly sweet scent fills his nose; his mind begins to swim with the first inhale.

“Welcome.” The shaman’s voice is deep, creaking. His smile makes his leathery, ancient face crack with wrinkles. “It is time.”

Arthur hesitates and curses his doubt, his weakness.

“The spirit trance is nothing to fear.”

“And if I don’t find my spirit animal?” What if there’s no power to help him on his quest and his tribe suffers with drought without relief? He watched Leon announce when he saw the hawk; Geraint, the clever weasel. He watched them take their rightful places in the tribe. His father wears a wolf pelt as a reminder to all how powerful his spirit animal is. Arthur has dreamt of the disappointment in his father’s eyes should his only son be found unworthy of a guide.

“What you will find, young Pendragon, is your destiny.”

Steeling himself, he sits cross-legged by the heavily smoking fire and closes his eyes.

Despite Arthur’s greatest fear, it happens quickly. He opens his eyes and knows he’s far from his village. He’s naked, flat on his back in the grass. The forest around him is plush and green, nothing like the dry barren earth surrounding his village. He has a faint memory of playing by this river once as a child.

He sits up and his heart pounds; he’s not alone. At the bank of the river a black bear turns. Seeing Arthur it rises on its hind legs, golden eyes boring into Arthur. _Muwin_ , Arthur realises, the bear of great magic. It falls to its feet and the ground trembles.

Arthur, born and raised a warrior, gathers his wits in a blink. He scrambles for the large stick by his ankle, the only weapon he can see.

The bear rears up at him, roaring a fierce thunder in Arthur’s face. Something ancient and strong swells in Arthur’s chest and he stands to face the beast, unafraid. He stares it down, stick held ready to issue a death-blow.

But the bear falls to all fours and bows its head, submitting in the face of Arthur’s courage. Only then does Arthur understand. He has passed the test. He has found his spirit animal.

The bear begins to change. The thick black fur morphs into skin, its body becomes slender until there is a man kneeling at Arthur’s feet. He looks up at Arthur with shimmering eyes. His sharp cheekbones and pale skin is like no man Arthur’s ever met. And yet Arthur feels a tug of familiarity, of kinship.

Arthur falls to his knees, covering the man’s body with his own. The arch of the human-bear’s spine is ethereal. Arthur presses kisses to each glistening bump. He grows heavy with lust and knows he must claim this creature. He thrusts inside and they cry out their pleasure in unison.

He feels the bear’s power as he ruts into him and he trembles with it. Muwin has great magic and great honour; both are now bound to Arthur, protecting and guiding him. The man bucks beneath him, wild and pleasing, urging him faster in a language Arthur can’t understand, yet _knows_ all the same. He feels the rightness of it, their coming together, as though their bond is as old as the earth itself. They, like the honoured warriors of legend, will be terrible and fierce to all foes.

There’s a roar, loud enough to make the birds scatter from the trees as Muwin finishes. The sound is raw and primal. It was brought forth by Arthur’s taking and the power of it rips Arthur’s completion from him.

The lie together, listening to the trickle of the stream as Arthur’s mind is opened to the future.

Arthur wakes alone in the shaman’s wigwam. He takes a moment to prepare himself before he must stand before his people and name his spirit animal. _Muwin_. Arthur will be strong with his protection and wise with his guidance.

He knows the path to the river where the earth is full of life, and he will lead his people to it and they will prosper in those lands.

* * *

**57.**

A warm breeze brings with it the smell of salt and crushed herbs. The ground is soft and downy, contoured as if it was made to fit his body. Merlin stretches and blinks, drowsy and content in the morning half-light, while gannets caw hoarsely over the low roar of the sea.

It is only then, with his arms splayed overhead, that he realizes he no longer feels pain. The creaks of old age seem to have vanished overnight.

He blinks again, focusing on his hands. No longer gnarled, the fine bones of his fingers stand out in sharp relief under unblemished skin. He gasps, a shock running through him while his mind runs in half-remembered circles . . . _the agony of bones crushing, the tinkling, cruel laugh of a woman as he gasps his last breath . . ._

Merlin jolts up, scanning his surroundings with increasing confusion. He sits perched on a grassy cliff, blue water roiling on sharp rocks below. The land is strange, yet familiar. Everything is bright. But how had he . . . He’d been buried in a cave. He’d been _dead._ And yet now he sits a young man with life racing through his veins. One thing is for sure: this is a place of magic.

A chuckle comes from behind. Heart stuttering, Merlin leaps to his feet and whirls around only to feel the ground give way underneath. He falls to his knees, eyes focussed on the ghost before him.

“Arthur?”

“Well done, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur teases, blue eyes crinkling at the edges. He’s not the same man Merlin buried so many years before, fallen and bloodied on the battlefield. That man had been past forty, but this is the golden boy Merlin remembers from his first days in Camelot.

“But you . . . you’re . . . you look . . .” He struggles to his feet again.

“I do look well, don’t I?” There is a faint trace of humour in Arthur’s voice as he eyes Merlin up and down, but his face has grown wistful. Gods, he’s so beautiful, Merlin might weep. “You look well, too.”

Merlin blushes like a youth at the compliment. “Where are we?”

“Mag Mell, so they tell me. And no, before you ask, we’re not dead. But we’re not exactly alive, either.” Arthur’s brow furrows as though he’s confusing himself. “They said some things about being worthy; I suppose we’ve earned this,” he says, gesturing with a smile. “After everything.” Whoever this enigmatic ‘we’ is, Arthur doesn’t elaborate.

The weight of lonely years is too heavy to carry alone. Merlin touches Arthur’s bare arm, half-expecting him to vanish in front of his eyes. But he doesn’t. The skin is warm, igniting old desires. Merlin closes his eyes and sags forward, caught and held by Arthur’s arms.

There are no words after their mouths come together tentatively, then fiercely, hands gripping tight enough to bruise. Arthur is a force above him, pushing him down into the heather, pulling at the strings of Merlin’s breeches until he is free, hard and straining. He gasps while Arthur squeezes him, kissing his way down Merlin’s torso, tickling the concavity beneath his ribs with soft lips.

Merlin buries fingers in Arthur’s hair, scratching against his scalp as his King takes his cock into his mouth, stroking it with his tongue. Above, the seabirds wheel in the too-blue sky. The sun is rising. He has to close his eyes against the unnatural colours of the land, even as his hips hitch, anchoring him to this strange place, this mouth, this man.

His climax builds quickly, an ache that starts deep in his belly, then tightens and spirals until he can do nothing but moan and grip Arthur’s shoulders as the release storms through him, blood roaring in his ears.

They’ve never had enough time. Perhaps this is a gift.

Arthur hushes him with quiet words of love just barely audible over the sea. Just when his breathing evens he feels himself hardening again as Arthur continues to touch and tease. It recalls their first time in the stables when they couldn’t keep their hands to themselves, when the expanse of a week’s separation had proven too much and had opened up everything. It is like the time they knew would be the last.

“What are you doing here, Arthur?” Merlin finally asks. His voice sounds young again, impossibly tender.

Arthur smiles. “Waiting for you.”

* * *

**58.**

It happened one evening in the woods to the south of Camelot. Arthur and a couple of his knights had decided to go out hunting for a bit. Arthur, because he wanted to get away from his father's ranting and raving about magic. The knights, because they were bound and loyal to King Uther and therefore subject to his whims - like accompanying Arthur on a simple hunting expedition. .

The light was fading and the shadows were creeping in when Arthur suddenly spotted a light. He looked around all of his knights were a few yards away setting up camp for the night. He really wished he could be out hunting by himself. With a sigh he turned back to the light. It was a small blue thing, kind of tear-shaped and oddly wispy. He blinked in confusion. It seemed magical, but it couldn't be. Everything his father told him about magic was that it was evil and this terrible thing. This soft light seemed neither of those.

Just then the wisp - well he could swear the wisp moved. Arthur's hand tightened in his sword as he took a step forward. There was an odd sound then the wisp moved again, swaying side to side. It was like it was beckoning him. Wary, but still the bravest knight in the land, Arthur stepped closer. As he got close enough to touch the wisp, it suddenly disappeared. Then a trail of them appeared in front of him, leading off into the dark of the forest. With nary a glance back at his knights, Arthur followed the trail of wisps into the trees.

\--

The wisps led Arthur on for what felt like hours. Every time the trail faded out a new one seemed to pop up. But his own curiosity was engulfing him. He pushed onward.

Arthur was just about to give up and turn back to camp when the wisps finally led him into a clearing. Stumbling over a branch, Arthur moved to the center of the grassy patch. Moonlight shimmered through the overhead branches, turning the area a pale blue. It was surreal.

Arthur turned in a circle, wondering why the wisps had led him here. A movement to his left made him jump. In a flash he drew his sword and rounded to face... a boy. A boy who looked not much younger than himself. Arthur blinked.

The boy was tall and skinny. His raven hair glittered in the moonlight as he cocked his head at Arthur. Arthur adjusted his sword grip.

"Who are you? Declare yourself!"

The boy just blinked at him, an odd look on his face. Arthur gritted his teeth and asked the boy again.

"What's your name?"

"I have many names Arthur Pendragon, but they are all inconsequential. I have been waiting for you."

"Waiting? What -"

Arthur was cut off by a pair of lips descending to his own. Arms wrapped themselves around his neck, pulling him deeper into the aggressive kiss. For a moment Arthur struggled, tried to push the boy off of him, but he could feel his mind going hazy and his limbs becoming weak. He fell to the ground, the boy crawling in his lap and tearing open his clothes.

Arthur gasped as the boy pulled out his hard cock and stroked it, flicking his thumb through the drops of precome leaking from the head. He tried to speak, but his tongue wouldn't cooperate. The boy straddled his lap and positioned himself over Arthur's throbbing cock. Then without a flinch lowered himself on Arthur's lap. Arthur groaned as his cock was enveloped by the strange boy, his body clutching Arthur tight and hot.

"Wh-who are you?" Arthur asked in a trembling whisper. The boy smiled and rocked forward before leaning down to Arthur's ear.

"Call me Merlin."

* * *

**59.**

The Shah is beginning to lose patience.

Realising he’s not about to be pleasured in the manner he expects, he lifts up on bent elbows and eyeballs his stupid new slave.

One last time, he tries to explain. “You’re supposed to _entertain_ me. _Divert_ me in a _pleasing manner_.”

He even gestures to his prone body, arranged beautifully on costly silks. Couldn’t _be_ more obvious.

Then again...

“I know, but I can’t even think straight because you’re just going to have me killed in the morning. And it’s not like I can do magic or anything. I can’t even juggle!”

“Haven’t you been...prepared?” Exasperated, Arthur gestures vaguely at the boy’s whole person.

“Well, they’ve bathed me, if that’s what you mean. And. You know. Oiled me.” The boy looks away, pink around the ears, muttering something that sounds like _‘in strange places’_.

Arthur is incredulous. There’s nothing for it. He’s just going to have to pull out his cock.

He sits up, then realizes he’s not even horny anymore, and the stupid slave won’t stop babbling.

“I suppose it’s so I don’t offend your delicate, royal sensibilities.”

Arthur hums, eyes snagging on the complete opposite of offensive: the bony nub of a pale shoulder, lean, coltish thighs beneath the short tunic, and dark eyes skillfully daubed with blue. He’s really quite lovely, though Arthur suspects he absolutely doesn’t know it, which is just as well. Nothing worse than vain slaves.

“Well, it appears the one thing you can certainly do is talk. Come. Talk to me.” And what the hell? Arthur can’t believe he just said that.

With an excited little grin, the slave does just that, spilling lanky limbs onto the Shah’s huge bed like a child beginning an adventure.

~/~/~

“...suddenly a glowing orb appeared above the Prince’s head, guiding him to--”

“I know what you’re doing, you know,” Arthur interrupts, yawning as dawn razes his rooms with unearthly radiance. The sleepless nights are really beginning to catch up with him.

Merlin blinks, confused. “What?”

“You take so long to tell your stories that suddenly it’s morning and I can’t get rid of you if I want to hear how they end.”

Merlin tuts. “Well, no wonder it takes me so long to tell them. You and your stupid questions and your wandering hands keep interrupting!”

“I’m tired! I want to know what happens NOW!” Arthur grumbles, rubbing his eyes, ignoring the bit about the hands. He’d hate to analyse why he’s prepared to listen to Merlin tell him stories night after night instead of having his dick spend all its time between his pert-

“You’re one of those people who skip to the last page, aren’t you?”

Arthur glares. Stupid slave.

He rolls over, nudging his head into the nook between Merlin’s side and armpit. He curls in like a big cat and sighs.

“ _Fine_. Get on with it,” he mumbles into warm skin, ears full of warriors and monsters and a strange sort of love. He falls asleep with Merlin’s hand sifting through his hair.

~/~/~

“But he _can’t_ marry her, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. You’re obviously telling it wrong,” Arthur says, stretching out next to Merlin.

Winter is upon them, brightly dyed silks giving way to thick woolen throws. The Shah’s hand has held many beautiful things, but he can’t remember any of them being quite as fascinating as Merlin’s inner thigh, glowing with heat from the open hearth. He slides the very tip of his finger between tunic and skin, luxuriating in it.

“He needs sons to rule after him.” Merlin’s voice sounds breathy. Arthur looks up to find Merlin’s eyes hooded and his lovely mouth slightly parted.

“Aren’t there pretty slave girls in his palace? He can’t be very bright, this king.” Arthur’s finger burrows a little higher, and he’s rewarded by Merlin’s tongue darting out to wet his lip. Arthur’s eyes track it with astounding focus.

“He’s the greatest king who ever lived,” Merlin protests weakly, gasping when the full weight of the Shah’s kneading palm descends on his leg.

“I think you’ll find that’s me, actually,” Arthur says darkly.

“Oh, yes,” Merlin groans in agreement as Arthur’s triumphantly smiling mouth follows his hand under the short tunic. “And so very humble.”

Arthur bites him, relishing the startled yelp.

“If it takes me a thousand and one nights, Merlin, I’ll have you begging for me, I swear it.”

Merlin tuts, scooting lower on the bed of cushions. “And you say _I_ never shut up,” he mutters, guiding the Shah’s hungry, pink mouth between his thighs, opening his legs as wide as he can.

* * *

**60.**

Merlin stood in the clearing, annoyed, newspaper clenched in one hand. He tapped his foot in the brush, his boots sinking into the rich soil of the Okanagan valley.

His companion looked anything but contrite.

Merlin snapped the newspaper open, the headline **OGOPOGO SIGHTING** large and stark against the newsprint above a grainy out-of-focus photo.

“I thought we talked about staying away from lakes,” Merlin snapped.

Kilgharrah chuckled, his breath hot and dry in the damp forest.

“Am I not allowed a bath, young warlock?”

“This,” Merlin said, waving the tabloid, “is why we had to leave Scotland.”

Kilgharrah’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. “So I see your memories are returning.”

“Yes, but that’s not the point. Unless you want to be featured on the next episode of _Monster Quest_ , stop drawing attention to yourself.”

Kilgharrah lazily rolled onto his side. “It was merely a tactic, Merlin. You will not be complete until you find the other half of your coin.”

Merlin scowled. “I _know_ but Arthur is not going to appear in Kelowna because you make a spectacle of yourself.”

“We will see,” Kilgharrah answered.

Merlin wearily rubbed his eyes, wondered how talking to ancient cryptic lizards had become his life, then he turned and trudged away.

“Where are you going?”

Merlin sighed. “Reincarnated medieval sorcerer or not, I still have to go to work.”

-

Days later, Merlin was half-heartedly price-marking the newest Ogopogo snowglobes when he was interrupted.

“So have you seen it?”

Merlin looked up, stuttered out a breath, caught off-guard.

The man in front of him was tall, broad, and cast a shadow on Merlin’s souvenir cart. He smiled crookedly, his hair a shock of gold in the sun, his large sunglasses reflecting Merlin’s stunned expression.

It was Arthur.

_Holy shit,_ Merlin’s brain supplied. _Kilgharrah will be smug for the rest of eternity_.

“Seen what?” Merlin responded dumbly.

Arthur tapped the button on Merlin’s chest which proudly stated: **I SAW OGOPOGO AT LAKE OKANAGAN**.

Merlin blushed, nerves singing. “Oh, yeah, loads of times. He’s a bit of an arse actually.”

Arthur laughed. “I bet you say that to all the tourists.”

“Only the cute ones,” Merlin answered.

Arthur smiled, pushed up his sunglasses. His blue eyes sparkled like the lake water. “Are you flirting with me?”

“That depends,” Merlin said, “on if it’s working.”

Arthur gave Merlin an appraising look. Merlin flushed all over, tingling from his toes to his scalp. “Most definitely. Can I buy you a drink when your shift is over?”

Merlin nodded, mouth dry. “I’m off in ten minutes.”

-

They had drinks. On their second date, they went to dinner and a film. On the third, Arthur dragged Merlin to quiz night at a local pub.

On the fourth, Merlin let Arthur fuck him.

Splayed on the sheets, panting, Arthur opened Merlin slowly, swallowing Merlin’s moans with deep kisses as Merlin arched into Arthur’s skillful hands. Merlin felt bared, fragile, memories of previous times hovering close but every touch new and different in this incarnation of his body.

“Fuck, Merlin,” Arthur whispered into Merlin’s shoulder as he slid in, body shuddering, skin slick with sweat. “I need you.”

Merlin echoed the sentiment in choked breaths and needy whines, his cock hard and heavy between his legs, Arthur a wall of heat along his spine.

Arthur fucked with long, slow pulls, his grip devastating on Merlin’s hips as he pulled Merlin back on his cock with every thrust.

“Please, Arthur,” Merlin moaned as Arthur’s pace quickened, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling up the room, increasing with Arthur’s grunts and the snap of his hips.

Merlin came with Arthur’s hand pulling on his cock, mouth open in a soundless cry, body shuddering as Arthur fucked him through his orgasm. Arthur followed shortly after, filling Merlin with hot come.

Sweaty and sated, they collapsed in a tangle of sweaty limbs, Merlin’s head resting on Arthur’s pounding heart.

“I feel like I’ve been searching for you,” Arthur whispered, on the edge of sleep.

Merlin smiled. “Me too.”

-

They were a happy mess, kissing and breathless, giddy as they stumbled into the forest by the lake.

“Where are you taking me?” Arthur hummed against Merlin’s mouth.

“Just a bit further,” Merlin coaxed. “I have something to show you. Trust me.”

“I do,” Arthur said, kissing Merlin sloppily, happily.

Merlin tugged Arthur into the clearing just as Kilgharrah glided to a soft landing.

Arthur gasped.

Merlin smiled.

“Apparently,” Merlin explained, “we have a destiny.”

* * *

**61.**

Merlin knew the cave looked dodgy. Knew it. So, the Sandman kipping there shouldn’t have technically been a surprise, nor him showing his ‘appreciation’ at the disruption by sending Arthur into dreamland.

After informing him that the enchantment would break when Arthur woke up, the Sandman vanished into the ether. Merlin didn’t think his echoing laughter was necessary, but it had been that sort of day.

He knew there was more to the enchantment than simply awakening – the fae were never that straightforward – Arthur had to _want_ to wake up. Or rather, he figured that out after hurling every non-damaging spell he could think of at his King for fifteen hours. To no avail.

There was a Dream Walking spell in the back of his old magic book that he recalled, but he was wary of trying it. It felt like a violation to intrude upon Arthur’s subconscious. However, after exhausting all the other options, it felt like the only choice left. The longer Arthur slept, the harder it would be to wake him up.

Merlin closed his eyes, relaxed his body, and pushed his consciousness into Arthur. It felt like sliding into a warm pool, and he could feel Arthur’s essence enclose around him. He had the sensation of walking through a blanket of fog, lost and without direction, hoping it would break and materialize into something tangible.

After flowing aimlessly through Arthur’s mind trying to find his soul, the fog dissipated into a scene in Arthur’s chambers.

His breath stole away.

Spread on Arthur’s fur rug in front of the fire was his doppelganger, clawing at the rug, desperate, as Arthur fucked him from behind. It was shocking, unexpected, and _beautiful_.

Merlin clutched at his scarf, gasping for air, as his double writhed on the floor in shameless ecstasy. And Arthur. Arthur’s face was something he’d never dared to dream: reverent and devoted, his glance affectionate and warm. His hands caressed every inch of his double’s skin.

He was Arthur’s dream.

It hurt like a sword in his chest. Merlin _wanted_ this – had always wanted this, and Arthur.... Seeing Arthur forget reality to be with him was like standing on a pyre, burning for sin.

“Arthur.” His voice broke on the name.

Arthur stopped fucking the double and looked at the real Merlin, confused. “Merlin?”

“Arthur, you’re dreaming.”

Arthur looked at him like he was stupid, and Merlin knew he was, but time was running out. The dream was like a magnet pulling at his soul, trapping him with Arthur in his fake reality. He squeezed his eyes shut and refocused. “Arthur, please, you have to wake up. Open your eyes. This isn’t real.”

Arthur looked momentarily confused, before he pulled out of Merlin’s double and approached him. His cock was shining with lubricant and gloriously hard. Merlin yearned to reach out and touch him. Arthur clasped his hand behind Merlin’s neck and pulled their foreheads together. “Don’t be and idiot, of course you’re real.”

“Well, yes, but this dream isn’t. Arthur, you have to listen to me…” Arthur’s lips silenced him and Merlin felt like everything he had ever wanted was being cruelly dangled in front of him.

He found himself suddenly without clothes and Arthur’s hot palm enclosing his erection. “Oh god, Arthur.” His knees were weak and his head was spinning, and he was _drowning_ in Arthur, surrounded by him.

A flash of Camelot crossed his memory and he pushed back, away from Arthur’s lethe lips. “No, Arthur, Camelot.” Arthur’s hand was still stroking up and down his erection, making thought difficult.

“We are in Camelot.” Arthur’s breath was hot and damp at his ear, and Merlin shivered and ached from how much he _wanted_.

“But this isn’t real.”

Arthur cupped his jaw and looked at him with such _love_ , Merlin wanted to cry. “You’re the most real thing that’s ever happened to me,” Arthur whispered. And Merlin wanted to lose. Forgot. Drown in Arthur’s lips and touch and vibrancy.

He was Arthur’s and Arthur was his, and truly, did the real world matter? Arthur’s touch was an apogee, and Merlin wanted this always. Reality shattered and all that remained was Arthur’s touch and a climax that wasn’t so much a release as it was a symphony.

After, Arthur whispered love in his ear, and they kissed until the world started to dissolve. Arthur faded around his fingers and Merlin clutched at what was left of him, desperate and horrified.

~~

Merlin opened his eyes.

* * *

**62.**

Merlin has the human, this _Arthur_ , pinned to the ground beneath him as he studies him intently. Even in the darkness, Arthur’s blond hair seems to shine, and Merlin imagines that those bright blue eyes are the colour of the sky by the light of day.

“Why do some of you refuse to listen, when I try so hard to keep you safe?” Merlin asks pleadingly, almost desperately even as anger churns in the pit of his stomach. “You’re not cursed to live a life in the darkness, and yet you act so careless and ignorant when you have the chance to live a normal life. _I’ll_ never have that chance.”

It’s more than he’s ever admitted to any human. Arthur has been struggling to get away ever since he was first pinned, but at Merlin’s words he finally stills, chest heaving from exertion.

“I _said_ that you should return home,” Merlin continues. “I _told_ you it wasn’t safe until sunrise. And you _laughed_ at me.”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says, voice muffled from where his face is still pressed into the ground. “I shouldn’t have acted like I was above you. Just let me go and I’ll head straight home, all right?”

“It’s not that simple, it doesn’t work like that!” Merlin snaps. “You scoffed at the darkness, acted as if you had no fear of it. You did not heed my warning, and for that, you must be punished.”

Merlin can feel Arthur tense under him, and the rage he’s been fighting against bubbles over slowly as Arthur resumes struggling (it’s futile, of course; Merlin’s strength is far superior).

He drags Arthur’s hips upwards until Arthur’s arse is pressed firmly against Merlin’s length and palms Arthur through his breeches. Distantly Merlin realises that he expected Arthur to put up more of a fight given how much he was struggling before, but instead Arthur has merely hung his head, his body pliant and allowing Merlin to touch him without argument.

Well, Merlin’s not really going to complain about that.

Slowly he begins sliding Arthur’s breeches down, only for Arthur to whimper when the fabric brushes against his cock. Merlin stills for a moment as he recognises the noise as one of pleasure, not pain, before he resumes pulling at them and only stops when they rest against Arthur’s knees.

Arthur may not be fighting him, but he’s still incredibly tense, and Merlin can hardly even work one finger into him at this point.

“Relax,” he mutters, voice tight, struggling not to growl in annoyance when Arthur lets out a sort of strangled half-laugh in response.

“Relax? I’m about to be fucked by someone who can change forms at whim.”

Still, he loosens up marginally after that, allowing Merlin to get two and then three fingers into him before being deemed ready.

Merlin enters Arthur abruptly, not even pausing to give him time to adjust as he begins moving at a near brutal pace almost immediately. Arthur is tight around him, and it’s all Merlin can do not to come immediately.

After a few more thrusts, he hits something inside Arthur that causes Arthur to choke out a moan. The sound sends a jolt of pleasure through Merlin in turn and he leans down, draping himself over Arthur’s back as he continues slamming into him.

“The darkness is dangerous,” Merlin breathes into his ear as he wraps his hand around Arthur’s cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts. “You’d do well to remember that.”

Arthur comes before he does, fingers scrabbling at the dirt and panting heavily, but Merlin is quick to follow, spilling into Arthur with a groan.

It’s only when Merlin pulls out, coming down from his orgasm that his actions sink in, and he backs away from Arthur quickly, a look of horror on his face. He’s never gone this far with a punishment before, and Merlin is disgusted with himself.

He watches Arthur wince slightly as he pulls his breeches up gingerly, and it just makes Merlin feel worse. He expects Arthur to leave, to get as far away from him as possible; what he _doesn’t_ expect is for Arthur to walk toward him.

“It’s not much of a punishment if I enjoy it,” Arthur says, and Merlin is still trying to figure that one out when Arthur kisses him.

Merlin might still be appalled by what he did, but he kisses Arthur back all the same.

* * *

**63.**

Until recently, Merlin hadn't know anything but the cold. Not moments ago he had been nothing but a chunk of ice in a mountain. He had been no different than the chunk of ice next to him or on the other side of the mountain or at the top of the mountain. He was simply there.

Then a horrible, hot wind had blown over everything. A dopey, drowsy mass had melted and slipped out of the mountainside, and now Merlin was a part of something else entirely. He was part of something huge and slumbering and dripping with evil. Merlin was the leg.

Well, Merlin was _a_ leg. There was another one, too.

Merlin wasn't happy about no longer belonging to the nice, cool mountain. That had been a happy, innocent life. Now he was a part of this wicked creature that couldn't even be bothered to wake up and have a look around.

Merlin looked around for himself and found that there really wasn't much to see, except the other leg.

The other leg was beautiful. It was strong and muscular and Merlin desperately wanted to rub up against it. It looked like it might still have the chill of the mountain in it.

"Why are you staring at me?" the other leg ask.

Merlin twitched in surprise. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare."

"I don't mind the staring. I just wanted to understand why."

Merlin looked up at the slumbering giant that they were a part of. He was still asleep, slumped pointlessly against the side of their ice mountain.

"You're lovely," Merlin said quietly.

"You as well," the other leg said quickly. "Are you called anything?"

"I call myself Merlin."

"I'm Arthur."

There was silence after that and Merlin drifted off, wondering if their other body parts had names or voices. When he woke up again, it was because Arthur was rubbing against him.

"Mmm?" Merlin hummed, stretching and flexing and making sure that he was real and still a leg.

"Sorry," Arthur said, stilling. "You looked... soft."

Merlin looked down at himself. He wasn't as muscular as Arthur, but he certainly wasn't soft.

"Your hair, I mean," Arthur explained. "It's so dark."

For the first time, Merlin noticed the brown hairs that were sprinkled over him. He looked at Arthur and saw that the other leg was dusted with almost invisible blond hairs. They did made Arthur look softer somehow. They made him look more delicate.

Merlin moved over and brushed against Arthur. "This feels nice," he said, pushing closer.

"I know," Arthur said in a low voice. "You're so warm."

Merlin squirmed and rocked with Arthur, trying to touch as much of him as possible. Arthur was solid and hot with blood pumping through the veins just under his skin. Merlin had hated the warm wind that had melted them off the mountain, but Arthur's heat was different. It was tingly and needy and Merlin found that he needed, too.

"More," Arthur gasped when their ankles crossed over each other.

"Yes," Merlin agreed. He knocked their knees together and Arthur gasped, sliding insistently against Merlin with constant, overwhelming movement until Merlin could barely think.

"You're perfect," Arthur choked out. He moved over Merlin and under Merlin and dragged himself all along Merlin's side, which sent Merlin into a fit of shivers.

"Please," Merlin whispered, feeling that he might lose himself in the mind-numbing pleasure of Arthur completely ravishing him. He hoped that none of the other body parts were watching them.

Arthur rubbed their thighs together and Merlin trembled with desire and anticipation. Then, pressed tightly against Merlin's side, Arthur brushed his toes over the top of Merlin's foot and all Merlin could do was moan. He cramped all over in horrible, intense pain, but he didn't want it to stop. He wanted more, he _craved_ more, and Arthur gave it to him until he was nearly sobbing.

Slowly, Arthur edged away, keeping only their toes touching. Merlin relaxed and the pain seeped out, leaving a dull ache of pleasure behind.

"Are you all right?" Arthur asked gently.

Merlin flexed all of his muscles, working out the last of the remaining cramps. "Yes," he breathed. "Are you?"

"Yes."

Merlin sighed and slid his ankle up and over Arthur's, crossing them comfortably.

He fell asleep thinking that maybe heat and existence as a leg wasn't going to be too terrible. But then he woke up with a very swollen knee and Mordred crept out of it a few days later.


End file.
